Remain The Same
by Mistress Scribbles
Summary: They picked themselves up and dusted themselves off and began again, but the problems in their lives still remained the same. A series of short stories about life, death, love, friendship, family and learning to grow up. Post TAC. S&L, C&OFC.
1. Interviews 1

REMAIN THE SAME

'Change my name, I remain the same. Try again, another new beginning...' - Moloko

-x-

Interviews (1)

-x-

The sound of the 8.15 train woke Liz. She sat up, disorientated, for a moment, groping for her alarm clock and wondering why it hadn't gone off. Then she remembered – she still hadn't got a new one since she'd swapped her last one with the batty old dear for the antique carriage clock which she'd had engraved 'To My Darling Edward, from your Wallis' and not got nearly enough for but had at least managed to pay the deposit on the flat. She had a funny feeling that had the American couple who'd bought it actually known what the reference was to, she could have afforded a bit of a holiday as well.

Still. One couldn't dwell on the past, and she got bored quickly without work, so it was probably a good thing that the money was starting to run out again. She got out of bed, quickly washed and dressed. The interview was going to be with a woman, so it was probably best to go for Frumpy But Adorable. Jumper, long skirt and flat shoes to emphasise the non-threatening stature. Pigtails. Minimal makeup. She considered spectacles for a moment, trying on the lens-less pair in the mirror, then took them off again. She didn't want to overdo it. Besides, all her attempts to invent an impairment had backfired on her in the past. She might have been an optimist, but she wasn't stupid.

She grabbed her portfolio, flicking through it quickly to ensure that all the stuff she'd included matched the style of the backdated copies of the old paper she'd managed to get. She had to get this one right. She just knew that she was destined to be a journalist – she had done since the first amateur article she'd written. And this paper was the only one likely to take her on with no professional experience or relevant qualifications. And the Dyslexia was a pretty major stumbling block. The one impairment she didn't have to invent, and certainly didn't want. She checked her bag for her purse, keys, fags and dictionary, stuffed her portfolio in with it, and ran out of the flat. She didn't have long 'til the interview, and she still needed to go to the baker's.

She wondered how many other people would be going for the job. She hoped that the myth that the paper was somehow horribly cursed would put other hopefuls off, and that there wouldn't be many people who, like her, were actually excited by the stories of sieges, suicides, electrical fires and a Death Cheating Editor. To your average twenty-two year old, it would sound like a terrible calamity waiting to happen. To Elizabeth Fish, it sounded like a laugh.

-x-

'I still can't believe we get Vending Machines these days.'

'Keeps you from leaving the office for lunch. Next fire we get, I'm buying an office with bunk beds, so nobody will ever have to go home.'

Frazz suppressed a smile. 'You're all heart, Boss.'

Lynda nodded in agreement. 'And the sofas. Do you like the sofas?'

'Very comfy, Boss.' The young man spread himself, the way that only young men can, out on the new settee. 'I feel thrilled and privileged to finally work at an office that boasts such a fine Staff Room. Or any kind of Staff Room, for that matter.'

Lynda took a sip of Vending Machine Fresh coffee, and surveyed her Shiny New Office.

'Fire's been getting a very bad press of late,' she said. 'If only people could learn to see its positive aspects. It's not a natural disaster. It clears the slate for a fresh start. It's an opportunity.'

'You're Doing It again, Lynda.'

Lynda raised her eyebrows. 'Was I? Fine. I'll stop.' She glanced at her watch. 'Where the Hell is he, anyway? I've got some good news for him.'

Familiar, male hands grabbed her hips from behind.

'Let me guess,' cooed an American voice in her ear, 'you've finally lost enough weight to fit into that dress I got you for Valentine's Day. Am I right?'

She rolled her eyes away from her boyfriend as he peeled himself off her and vaulted a coffee table to lean against the Vending Machine.

'Thompson, firstly, I do not need to lose weight; secondly, that so called "dress" was disgusting; thirdly, you should have known I'm not a size 10 in the first place; fourthly, I wasn't even talking about you; and fifthly, don't do that.'

He grinned. 'Do what?'

He thumped the machine, causing a chocolate bar to come loose and fall into the tray.

'That,' she replied. 'Those machines are new. You might not have grasped the rudimentary mechanics of technology yet, but the point is that you have to put some sort of currency in the little hole before you get your feed.'

Spike stood upright, waving the retrieved chocolate bar at her. 'I don't. You gotta think outside the box sometimes, Boss.'

'I don't even know where the box is, Spike. I am one box-free lady. No boxes for me.'

'Lynda.' Spike put the first square of his chocolate bar into Lynda's mouth. 'You're Doing It again.'

'Again?' Lynda looked from Spike to Frazz, and back again. 'Damn. I hope he's OK.'

'Why?'

'Because I only start Doing It when he isn't Doing It.'

'He was Doing It yesterday,' volunteered Frazz.

'Yes…' muttered Lynda, 'so I wonder what's changed…'

-x-

She stepped out of the Staff Room and into the Lobby. She had a Lobby! There was a Staff Room, a separate toilet for the men… she even had her own office for once, not that she was intending on using it. That old building had been a death trap anyway. A little creativity with the insurance and they'd turned her near demise into the best thing to ever happen to her paper. The two of them, pouring over contracts and documents and facts and figures for five days running, had managed to hatch a phoenix from the flames. That had been two months ago, and now - finally, finally they were almost ready to put the relaunch issue to bed. Their baby. The first rebirth of the paper with no Kenny, and no Sarah. Spike and Frazz were still there but, not that they weren't great at what they did, at the bare level that the team had found themselves at after the fire, stripped down to the wires, their initial input had largely been on an emotionally supportive level. Dammit, she was Doing It even when nobody else was around to hear. She'd been spending far too much time around him.

Two months. Two months the pair of them had spent almost solidly with their nose to the grindstone, hauling the paper back from the abyss. The insurance. The new office. The new budgets, new reports, new proposals, new structure, new business loans, new contracts… they could make one another coffee just the way they liked it in their sleep now, since they'd been forced to in order to make it through the late nights and early mornings several times. It was Their Baby. She had created it with the most unlikely person imaginable, and she loved it. This Baby was it. It was strong, and it would thrive. Only… only she'd been getting a terrible, nagging feeling that Colin didn't really want to play Happy Families any more.

She leaned against the Receptionist's counter. She had a Receptionist, for God's sake!

'Colin here yet?'

The older woman looked up. '"Colin"?'

'Mr Mathews.'

'Oh. Not yet, Miss Day.'

She folded her arms. 'Bugger. Well at least he doesn't have a back door any more. Let me know when he's here, would you? And tell him it's good news, so he doesn't run away again.'

'I think your Nine-thirty Interview might be running late, too,' added the Receptionist.

Lynda just shrugged, and stepped through into the newsroom.

-x-

Julie met her as she was walking in.

'What's this about the centre spread?'

'Morning, Julie.'

'I mean, were you intending on telling me? Ever?'

'Of course I was. We're having a meeting about it at eleven.'

'At the meeting?' Lynda recoiled a little from Julie's snarl. Too many teeth! 'In front of everyone else?'

Lynda turned from her. 'What's the matter with that?'

'The matter, Lynda, is that I've been dead set against that idea ever since it was thought up, so you could at least have the decency to let me get used to the fact that I've lost the fight before I have to put up with him knowing that he's won.'

'Well,' threw Lynda over her shoulder, 'he's not in yet, so I guess you got your wish.'

'It has been three long months, Lynda Day!' Julie cried after her. 'Would you please stop punishing me for not giving that little worm the date of a lifetime? I can't just make myself attracted to anybody that you want to push at me, you know. Why do you seem to think that I'm your personal escort agency?'

Lynda turned her head, looking Julie up and down, briefly. 'There's a full length mirror in the Ladies, Julie. Take a good look at yourself and then make a rough guess why.'

Her phone was ringing, giving her the perfect opportunity to make a cool exit from the conversation, leaving her Assistant Editor agog with impotent fury in her wake. Yes, this was going to be a good morning. She picked up the ringing telephone.

'UpStart, Lynda Day speaking.'

-x-

Liz should really have been looking where she was going, and not distracted by the large, red sign on the building she was running towards, although she really couldn't have foreseen running straight into a crouching man, toppling over him headfirst and landing gracelessly on the pavement, scattering her papers as well as his as they both fell.

'Shit.' She checked her carrier bags. Only a couple of the cakes had been crushed. That was something, she supposed.

'My shoelace,' muttered the young man, gathering his papers, hastily.

'Hmm?'

'It was untied, that's what I was…' he trailed off, gazing at the folder on the top of his pile. 'Is your name Elizabeth Fish? Because mine isn't.'

'Oh.' She took the extended folder from him. 'Yes. That's my portfolio. Thanks.'

'Mmm.'

She took a better look at the man. He looked distracted, worried and very, very young. Competition. Damn.

'You here for an interview too?'

The youth looked at her and laughed, grimly at first, then louder, shaking his head in disbelief.

'Good joke, kid. Like it. Love it.'

Liz picked herself up onto her feet. 'Well… I'm late, anyway.'

'Sure'. The man was in no hurry to follow her. 'Good luck, I suppose. You optimistic?'

She grinned as she broke into a run again. 'I hope so!'

-x-

'UpStart, Lynda Day speaking.'

'It's me, Miss Day.'

'Who's "me"?'

'Carol.'

'No. That's no good.'

'Carol Jenkins.'

'Remind me..?'

Carol Jenkins' sigh was audible on the other end of the line. 'Reception.'

'Oh! The Receptionist! Right.'

'Your Nine Thirty is here.'

'Late.'

'So is Mr Mathews.'

'Even later.'

Lynda slammed the phone down without any further acknowledgement to her new Receptionist and stood up to fold her arms at her Financial Director's tardy arrival.

'Do I have to start making you dock your own wages?'

Colin didn't even look up as he made a beeline for his office. 'Wrong kind of leaves on the line.'

'You walk.'

He paused to think. 'Wrong kind of women on the pavement.'

Lynda noted the contemptuous snort from Julie's direction, but pretended to ignore it.

'I want you at the 11 o'clock meeting today.'

'That's an Editorial meeting, Lynda. We've been through this. I'm not Editorial. I'm stacked enough as it is.'

'I've got good news about the centre spread…'

It didn't even slow Colin down. 'You're going with my idea. You'd be an idiot not to.'

Julie got to her feet, irritably. 'Not necessarily!'

Colin paused at the door to his office, turning to the women.

'You wanted UpStart to have more lifestyle features. It's still a local publication. It makes sense that our readers will want features on shops and bars and restaurants that they can actually visit, and when those businesses are willing to pay us extra to write about them, we'd be idiots to turn them down. Advertorials work because people enjoy reading them, and a centre spread ad feature will bring in an extra grand a week at least. Everyone's a winner.'

'Everyone except Features,' retorted Julie. 'If they wanted to write Ad Copy, they'd join your team.'

'They're going to,' snapped Lynda.

'What?' The incredulous reply came at Lynda in synchrony from Julie, Colin and most of the Features team.

'I was going to bring this up at the 11 o'clock,' sighed Lynda, 'but since we seem to be having that meeting now, I may as well tell you all. Colin's going to take over Features for a month or so. Just until they've got the hang of writing Ad Copy.'

'I never agreed to that!' yelled both Julie and Colin over the general cacophony of malcontent.

'You just did,' smiled the Editor, sweetly. She waved over the American lounging in the doorway, a sign that the conversation regarding Features was over.

Spike, still munching, perched himself on his girlfriend's desk.

'It's not even quarter to ten and you've got a riot on your hands already.'

Lynda leaned back in her chair. 'Just another Monday morning.'

'He's not Editorial!'

'I'm not Editorial, Lynda! I haven't got the right brain for it.'

Lynda sighed, and turned back to her furious colleagues.

'Of course you do. You've got a great eye for Editorial. Do I have to remind you that two of the best issues of the Junior Gazette were overseen by you?

'Lynda…'

Not to mention, one of the worst.' She grinned at Colin. 'Congratulations. You're Editorial.'

'Lynda…'

Julie screwed her fists into her hair. 'Brilliant, Lynda. Why not just give him my chair while you're at it?'

'Lynda, I'm not…'

'Shut up, Kenny.'

'Lynda. I'm not Kenny.'

'I said, shut your face, Ke… oh…'

He had disappeared into his office and slammed the door behind himself before she had chance to stand.

Spike slid himself into Lynda's chair. 'Did you know that there's a matching brassiere that goes with that Slip, Mr Freud?'

'That wasn't just a Freudian Slip.' Lynda bit her lip. 'That was a Freudian pratfall into a large vat of custard.'

Frazz settled himself down at his desk. 'Who's Freudian? What did I miss?'

Lynda let herself into Colin's office, glad that she hadn't let him get padlocks for this one. Although he'd normally have got padlocks whether he was allowed to or not. He just hadn't bothered to this time. It worried her. He didn't even attempt to make himself look busy when she came in, but sat staring past her into the middle distance, the way he had been doing increasingly over recent months.

'Heard of knocking?'

'I thought you said the Ladies didn't need to knock.'

'Hmm.'

Lynda flicked the lights on. He hadn't even bothered to do that. 'Sorry about the "Kenny" thing. I've just… I've always had a Kenny. I think I'm just the kind of girl who needs a man in her life that she's never going to sleep with, and since you can bet your life that you and me are never, ever going to have sex with each other, I think I must have…'

'I don't like it here any more, Lynda.'

Her heart sank. This was what she'd been dreading. Another one bites the dust…

'You've only been here a couple of weeks…'

'Not _here_.' He ran his hands over his desk. 'It's not the office. It's not even the paper. Not really. It's bigger than that. And it's smaller than that.' He propped himself on his elbows, sinking his forehead into his fingertips. 'I don't like it in _here_ any more. I'm sick of it. I just… I want to take my brain out and shake it, make all the loose bits fall into place.'

She took a step backwards towards the door, concerned at the shallowness of his breath. She was well acquainted enough with Panic Attacks to recognise one coming on. 'Colin. The loose bits are what make you You.'

'It's bollocks. It's bullshit.' He sank further into his hands. 'It's pointless.'

'Oh God. Wait there.' She turned and stepped back into the newsroom, one hand still resting on the closed door handle. 'I need somebody kind, calm and understanding who isn't in Australia or University,' she announced. 'It's that Breakdown I've been waiting for.'

Frazz got to his feet. 'Don't leave him alone in there if he's losing it.'

'What's he going to do? Give himself a fatal papercut?'

'He'll escape!'

'Frazz, do you really think that after all the trouble we had with him sneaking out of the old office I'd give him another secret door?'

'No.' Spike removed his sunglasses. 'But this time he's got a window.'

Lynda blinked, then span around and opened the door to an empty office with an open window.

'Shit!'

She ran to the open window, leaning out of it. He was already halfway down the road, sprinting away.

'Julie?' She held out her hand. 'Handbag.'

She caught the tossed bag and began to clamber out of the window herself.

'You're not going after him!' Exclaimed the Assistant Editor.

Lynda dropped to the pavement and turned briefly back to the window before setting off on his trail.

'Julie, I've been patiently watching him get closer and closer to snapping for months now. I don't want to miss it when it happens.'

-x-

She let him run until he was well out of range of the office, hoping he would tire before she did. When it became clear that wasn't about to happen, she hitched up her bag, pulled out her portable phone and speed dialled 3. There was a distant ringing, and she watched with amusement as he, still sprinting, pulled a phone from his coat pocket and answered it.

'Can't talk. Busy.'

'Couple of questions. Firstly, you're heading away from your house, your Mum's, and most of your haunts that I know about. Where is it we're actually going?'

There was only harsh breathing on the other end of the phone. The young man ahead of her came to a clumsy halt, genuinely bemused.

'I don't know.'

Lynda slowed to a jog as she approached him.

'And second, how can you run so fast with such short little legs?'

Colin, bent double to catch his breath, glanced up at her, grimly.

'A lifetime's worth of practice.'

There was a pause as they both sucked in air, putting away their phones.

'Care to tell me what all that was about?'

'I'm not Kenny,' Colin re-iterated. 'I'm not clear headed and I'm not organised and I'm not reliable. You've got to stop relying on me. It'll only end in tears…' He trailed off, sinking to his knees. 'Excuse me, Lynda. I think I need to be foetal for a while.'

'Colin?'

True to his word for once, he curled up on himself, grinding his forehead against the pavement.

'Colin!'

She was answered with a low, wordless moan as he wrapped his arms around his head. She tried nudging him a little with his toe.

'Colin, get up.'

'No.'

A passing pair of old ladies stared at them, bewildered. Lynda met them with a polite smile, still nudging the foetally curled youth, gingerly.

'Colin,' she hissed, 'you are a grown man, not to mention Financial Director, Sales and Marketing Manager and now Features Editor of a major Young Adults' Publication. Would you kindly act like it, instead of a tantruming six year old.' She emphasised the end of her order with a harder kick.

Colin sat up with a sigh. She grabbed the crook of his elbow, hauling him up onto his feet and brushed the mud off his trousers, tutting.

'Isn't that better?' She spat on her thumb and wiped a patch of dirt from his forehead.

He nodded.

'Want to sit on the swings with me?'

He nodded again.

-x-

Liz was distracted again. Her interviewer was going through her papers, getting ready to ask her what may turn out to be some life changing questions, and she couldn't take her eyes off the dribbley red blob mounted on the wall.

'The Editor sends her apologies,' said the Blonde woman with a false brightness, 'but there was an unforeseen emergency she had to handle.'

'That's OK…' muttered Liz.

The Blonde woman leaned in to her, conspiratorially. 'Ask me, if she insists on working with Bloody Men, she's just asking for that kind of trouble.'

'Is that art?' blurted Liz, despite herself.

The woman followed her eyeline to the blob on the wall. 'No. That's the phone.'

'Really? A working telephone?'

'Hasn't worked for years. Officially, it never did. And then it burnt to a crisp in the fire, but _she_ insisted on keeping it. She get sentimental over the weirdest things.' The woman shrugged herself out of it, and extended a businesslike hand. 'Julie Craig. Assistant Editor. And you are…' Julie checked her notes. 'Elizabeth Fish.'

Liz shook the hand. 'Not a great surname, I know. And call me Liz. Or Lizzie.'

Julie's face fell. 'Oh.'

'What?'

'She tends not to like working with other women with 'L' names. She says it confuses her.'

'You're joking.'

'Wish I was. So far she's got through two Lynns, a Libby and a Lindsey.'

Liz chewed her lip, and rummaged in her bag.

'Take a look at this,' she said, sliding her portfolio across the table. 'And, er…' she pushed a small cake across with it. 'You might like a Fairy Cake while you're reading.'

Julie picked up both folder and confectionary with a small frown in Liz's direction.

'What is this?'

'Just a cake.'

'It's not a bribe at all, is it?'

'What makes you think that?'

Julie gave the diminutive interviewee a cynical once-over. 'Did you know your jumper's on inside-out?'

Liz looked down at her jumper for the briefest moment, then unflinchingly gazed the other woman in the eye again.

'Yes. It's how they're all doing it nowadays.'

'How who are doing it?'

'Them. In London, you know? And Paris.' She put another bun on the desk. 'Chocolate Éclair?'

-x-

Two people, a man and a woman, both in their very early twenties, were sitting in a playground, in the drizzle, on a pair of swings. They didn't speak for a long time, but used their heels to listlessly push themselves backwards and forwards a few inches each way, like a couple of bored miscreant youths. It wouldn't have looked so odd had they not both made misguided attempts to Power Dress. They had both made the mistake of buying jackets that were slightly too big for them, and neither had bothered to iron. They didn't look up, didn't notice anybody else, just watched their feet and gently, sadly swung together.

'Perception's a funny thing,' said Lynda at last, 'journalistically speaking. Just one event can have hundreds of different stories in it. Thousands. It all depends on who you interview, what their angle is, how much they know. And, the funny thing is, no matter how deep you dig, you know that, at the end of the day, your story isn't the real truth. Not the whole truth. Because I'm not sure that The Whole Truth is something that you can ever really know. You just know bits. Some people simply know more bits than others.'

There was no reply. She hadn't been expecting one.

'I'll give you an example,' she continued. 'There's a story at our office, generally accepted as Fact, that we nearly lost Colin Mathews a couple of months ago. The paper was in trouble, he was headhunted and he walked, until clever, gorgeous, wonderful Lynda Day used her usual womanly wiles to persuade him into coming back.'

She paused, and looked at him. He still wasn't ready to talk. He wasn't even smiling.

'But I know a different story. My story goes that we've been losing Colin Mathews for a long time. But he's not walking. He's unravelling. He's eroding away. Piece by piece, a shallow creation that we called Colin Mathews is crumbling into oblivion. Only there's something behind it - a strange, sad young man. You keep clutching at the mask, but it keeps slipping, more and more.'

'Except you're the only one that can tell, I suppose?' His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and cynical.

'Maybe I'm the only one who can be bothered to look,' she replied. 'Maybe I met that person behind the wall some time ago, and liked him. Maybe there's a girl behind a different wall somewhere who wanted to know him better. Maybe that's why I felt compelled to hug him once. Who knows? Who knows the Whole Truth?'

'You don't,' he said. 'You don't know me. No one does. What makes you think I put up barriers? What makes you so sure of what's genuine and what's fake?'

'You're right,' she replied, 'I don't know for sure that I've ever met the real you. But there's one thing I know from past experience. What you're doing now – the withdrawal, the sadness, the sudden ability to talk sensibly and honestly – it means that something's seriously wrong. It means you're not a very happy pink bunny.'

That, at least, made him smile a little.

'How did this happen?' She coaxed.

He sighed, and stopped his swing. 'I haven't been sleeping well recently.'

'Since when?'

'Since I was shot.'

She stared at him. He met her gaze with a blank expression that she'd come to learn meant he was being genuine.

'Colin, that was over a year and a half ago…'

'Don't you get nightmares over it, too?'

Lynda raised her eyebrows, looking off into the grey sky. 'And the rest.'

'I get dreams. Sometimes while I'm still half awake. It's the funeral, and they all start screaming… his family… they're so angry. They're so angry that I lived, when he didn't.'

Lynda tried to meet his eyes again, but he refused.

'You've surprised me, Colin,' she said. 'I didn't think it went back that far. I thought it was all down to… you know… your problem.'

Colin frowned. 'Problem?'

'With women.'

'Oh. Yes.' Colin scuffed at the ground. 'The "J" Words. I can't pretend they've helped.'

'I'm right, aren't I? That's been getting to you, too.'

'Of course it has. I'm almost 21 years old, for God's sake. I should be out having fun, meeting girls. I shouldn't be spending my life hiding in wardrobes, locking myself in offices, and jumping out of windows. Not on my own, anyway.' He shook his head. 'I mean, how did you do it, Lynda? How did you manage to find somebody, just like that, who sees who you are and loves you for it? Because I've been trying and trying, and I think it has to be impossible.'

'Colin, me and Spike hardly happened "Just Like That". There was a lot of screaming, crying and throwing things. You know that. You were there for most of it.'

Colin finally looked at her again, the ghost of a genuine smile on his mouth. 'It was worth it though, wasn't it? I bet you wouldn't have missed a second of it for the world.'

Lynda smiled back. 'I'm a lucky cow, aren't I? But I'll tell you something, Mister. If I deserve a Spike, you deserve one as well. There's a Spike out there for you, too. There has to be.'

'I don't want to out with Spike.'

Lynda tutted. 'There's gratitude.'

-x-

Julie frowned a little as she passed yet another girl with her jumper on inside out. That made three so far that day. She was starting to wonder whether Liz might have been onto something. She entered the office, clearing her throat, politely. Liz looked up, troubled. She was still working on her written test.

'I'm going to have to hurry you, I'm afraid,' said Julie. 'You're only supposed to take 10 minutes, and you've had nearly twice that.'

Liz bit her lip. 'Nearly done. I can talk and write at the same time, you know.'

'All right, then.' Julie sat down opposite Liz. 'Let's see if you've done your homework. Tell me about UpStart.'

'What's to tell?' Liz grinned. 'It hasn't had its first issue yet. I know that it's not to be confused with the Junior Gazette, if that's where you were expecting to trip me up.'

'Typical Journalist,' laughed Julie, 'always looking for the trick question.'

'The team at UpStart used to work on the Junior Gazette,' continued Liz, 'but after the old office was destroyed in a fire, you all knew you'd have to start again from scratch so you decided to re-brand yourselves. You were getting too old to work on a children's paper anyway, so the business was completely changed to become a quality local weekly for young adults, freeing the owners of the Junior Gazette title to turn it into a project for schoolchildren again. How's that?'

Julie nodded. 'Well researched.'

'It's a good idea, by the way,' added Liz, 'it's filling a big gap in the market, and your target readers grew up with the old Junior Gazette, so even though it's new, it's still from a trusted source. It's still risky, but I reckon it'll do well.'

Liz handed her test paper over to Julie, brightly.

'That's what we're all hoping,' replied Julie. 'I'll be back to see you once I've gone through your test.'

Liz beamed cheerily at her until she'd left the office and closed the door behind her.

'Sweet girl,' muttered Julie to herself.

Then she looked down at the test paper in her hands. She sighed, disappointedly. 'Oh dear.'


	2. Interviews 2

Interviews (2)

-x-

The drizzle had thickened into a half-hearted shower. Still the strange pair sat on the swings, oblivious, wrapped in their own thoughts. Finally, Colin blinked.

'We've got a paper to launch,' he announced flatly, and stood up.

Lynda stayed seated. 'Yes… yes, we do. You've been enjoying that, haven't you? It's a new challenge. It keeps you busy. The last couple of weeks, you've almost been your old self. Like you'd managed to push those things that you've just told me about to the back of your mind.'

'Can we get back, Lynda? I think it might be raining.'

'But something happened,' she continued, 'something you hadn't been expecting. Something… something to do with people trusting you and relying on you. Something pulled the world from under your feet this morning.'

She watched his expression.

'No. It wasn't this morning,' she added, 'it was last night. You haven't slept a wink, have you?'

Colin hesitated, screwing up his face.

'Colin, after all you've just told me, you might as well tell me this.'

With a sigh, Colin sat back down on his swing.

'I bumped into Cindy last night.'

'Oh?' Lynda deliberately kept her voice as level as possible.

'She's fifteen now, can you believe that?'

'Where does the time go, eh?'

'She looks older, though,' he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'covered in make-up, skirt up to nowhere… falling out of a pub at closing time on a school night…'

He paused, for a long time, before he finished his sentence, bitterly.

'…with her boyfriend.'

'Something tells me she's not dating a Boy Scout.'

'I know him. He's a car salesman. A real sleaze, and I've met some sleazebags, goodness knows… always bragging about the filthy things he's got his conquests to do… the man's thirty two years old, Lynda. It's disgusting.'

Lynda nodded, solemnly. 'Sometimes, when people have been abused, especially at a young age, they fall into a pattern, they…'

'I know, OK? It's a vicious cycle. She thinks it's the norm. She thinks that sort of relationship's the only one she deserves. I know what it is.' He grimaced up at the gloomy clouds, his knuckles white against the chains of the swing. 'She thinks it's love. She thinks that's how men show girls how much they love them. She thinks she doesn't have to bother with school, because some day really soon he's going to whisk her away and give her a fairytale wedding. But she's still a child. It's still abuse. She's still being abused, and there's nothing I can do about it, because she thinks it's fine. She accepts it.'

'It's not your fault.' Lynda tried to touch his hand, but he jerked it away. 'You did what you could for her.'

'I didn't do a thing for her,' replied Colin. 'She's still getting raped. It's just a different dirty old bastard that's doing it now.'

'But this is her choice now…' attempted Lynda.

'That was my Good Deed,' interrupted Colin. 'That was my Pure Moment. The one thing I ever did that was worth a thing. And now it's gone. It never existed. I was too late for her, and I couldn't help. I never helped her. So you see what I mean, Lynda? It's pointless me trying to make a difference. It's pointless me trying to get a girlfriend. It's pointless me trying to do anything real with my life. Run a company with you, Lynda Day? It's a joke.'

Lynda stood up. 'It's not a joke.'

'You need a Kenny for this job, Lynda. This is Grown Up Stuff. This is your Baby. You don't want to share it with somebody who has managed to screw up every serious thing he's ever tried to do.'

'You didn't screw up the paper,' she replied, bluntly. 'And you did things that meant you took a bullet that, let's face it, was probably meant for me, and you stopped me from throwing the ashtray. Kenny wouldn't be able to fabricate a new business out of nothing, but you and I have – because we can lie and bullshit and delude until thin air becomes solid.'

She let him think about that for a moment before continuing.

'I want you to come back to work. I'm not suggesting that you just carry on like nothing has happened. But you're talking to the wrong person here. It may have slipped your attention, but you just opened up to a Soulless, Psychotic Megabitch. I think you should be saying those things to a professional.'

'I don't need a shrink. I'm not a lunatic.'

'Of course you're a lunatic. You're the least sane person I've ever met.' Lynda smiled at him, raising an eyebrow. 'You seem to enjoy my company, for starters.'

At long last, he smiled an Old School Smile. 'You really want a Pink Rabbit at your funeral, Lynda?'

'It's my funeral.' She took his elbow, guiding him to his feet. 'Believe me, Colin. All the best men in my life enjoy jumping out of windows.'

-x-

Julie pulled her top back over her head, newly inside-out. She sighed. It was such a pity. Liz was such a nice girl – enthusiastic, adorable, and she actually knew a thing or two about fashion, unlike most of the deadbeats she shared the office with. She really didn't want to have to let her down. But the girl couldn't write on even the most basic level. She couldn't spell, couldn't punctuate… her handwriting was just a childish scrawl.

Julie steeled herself, and let herself out of the toilet.

'Hey, Julie.'

Julie jumped. 'Spike!'

The American grinned at her, his mouth half full of Eccles cake.

'Spike, do you make a habit of loitering outside the Ladies' Toilet?'

'Only when my Girlfriend's not around.'

She returned his smile but folded her arms, guardedly. 'What do you want, Spike?'

'Just what's best for the paper, Julie. Same as you.'

Julie narrowed her eyes a little. 'Where are you going with this?'

'Uh…' Spike scratched the back of his head, feigning embarrassment. 'I might have caught a glimpse of Lizzie Fish's test paper.'

'Spike! That's classified!'

'Yeah. And I'm an Investigative Reporter.' Spike leaned against the wall. 'And I was interested to know why you went into her test looking so positive, but came out looking so dejected. I figured it had to be that she was doing really well until her test sheet let her down.'

'Spike,' sighed Julie, 'if you've seen her test, you'll know why we can't have her on the team. I was willing to overlook her lack of professional experience, but if she can't write, she can't write.'

'That's not what it's about, Julie.'

'Of course that's what it's…'

'Hey. I'm no William Wordsmith myself. Back when I started, I needed help with the basics all the time.'

'Wordsworth,' corrected Julie, 'and you were never as bad as she is.'

'I guess not.' Spike stepped in front of Julie, blocking her attempt to leave the conversation. 'But I'm good at what I do, and I know what it takes to be able to do it. You gotta… you gotta be able to read minds, but manipulate 'em while you're doing it… it's hard to explain…' he looked warily at Julie's unconvinced expression. 'There's something about her attitude that just feels right. She can't be five feet tall, but she walks like she's a giant, y'know? And have you noticed how many people are wearing their sweaters inside out since she came in?'

Julie shrugged. 'That's just the way fashionable people are wearing them these days.'

'See,' grinned Spike. 'That's what I'd have told you, too.'

-x-

They walked side by side until they got to the office's front door.

'I'm sorry I couldn't give you any answers,' said Lynda.

Colin shrugged. 'Some problems don't have answers. I might start sleeping better now I've said them out loud, though.'

Lynda nodded. 'Needless to say, you don't have to worry about me breathing a word of any of this to anyone.'

'Wouldn't have told you otherwise.'

Aware that there was nobody watching, they gave each other's hands a quick squeeze before splitting away from one another.

'And, needless to add,' she continued in a louder tone, 'if you ever so much as contemplate using that window as an escape hatch again, I'll chop off both your legs and use them to beat the rest of you to death with.'

Colin pushed open the door for himself with a grin. 'You'll have to speak up, Lynda. I can't hear a word you're saying.'

The door was caught by Spike, who held it open for Lynda.

'Hey Colin. Welcome back.' Spike watched the shorter youth give a hasty wave and hurry through the doorway. 'Guess this exodus was even shorter than your last one, huh?'

Colin turned briefly to him at the Reception desk. 'Yeah. There was a minor emergency, but I think I've got it under control now.'

Lynda slipped Spike's arm around her shoulders as Colin swiftly disappeared. '"Exodus", Spike? That's a very long word for a pretty little thing like you. Have you been going through the dictionary looking for rude words again?'

'There were some great ones in the margins, you know,' Spike replied. 'Funnily enough, they were all about you.'

She just laughed, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

'Crisis Averted, then, I take it.'

Lynda nodded, allowing her boyfriend to usher her through the foyer. 'For the time being, anyway. But something gives me the feeling that we might have to get a company psychiatrist on the payroll.'

'Well, I got good news for ya, Boss.' Spike pressed Liz's CV into Lynda's hands. 'You just did.'

Lynda stopped in her tracks. 'What?'

'The new girl. Lizzie Fish. She studied Psychology at College for three years.' He pointed out the section in the CV. 'Look.'

Lynda frowned, flicking through the papers. 'She also failed to turn up for any of her final exams.'

'Exams are for chumps,' shrugged Spike.

'Spike…' Lynda's expression was torn between bewilderment and fury. 'I didn't hire this girl. I would never hire this girl.'

'Julie did. You left her with the interview, after all.'

'Julie's got no authority! Spike, this candidate was late, she's failed a degree which had nothing to do with Journalism in the first place, her only experience is a few unpaid articles, she's an "L" name, which you know I hate, and look!' She waved Liz's test at Spike. 'She can't even write straight! I mean look at these mistakes. Even you couldn't spell that badly.'

'True. But I'm not Dyslexic.' Spike blinked patiently as Lynda studied the test sheet in her hands.

'Let me get this straight,' seethed Lynda. 'I leave the office for less than an hour, in which time you and Julie manage to hire a Dyslexic Reporter? I mean, is there any way this place could possibly get any more ridiculous?'

'We've got computers, Lynda,' Spike replied, 'with spell checks. Besides, you proofread every piece that gets submitted. You'd never let so much as a typo slip through the net. Dyslexia's a minor stumbling block. And it shouldn't get in the way of a person's career.'

Lynda pushed the papers back into Spike's hands. 'You fancy her, don't you?'

'Aw, c'mon, Lynda…'

'You talked Julie into hiring her because she's some sort of long legged Brazilian Supermodel, didn't you? And now you're doing the same thing to me…'

Lynda tried to storm away, but Spike caught her arm. 'Don't be stupid, Boss. You know I've only got eyes for You Know Who when it comes to You Know What.' He tried not to smile at Lynda's scowl. God, she was gorgeous when she was in a psychotic, jealous fury! 'She's waiting for you in the coffee room, so you can see what a "Supermodel" she is. Seriously, Lynda, if I were to date her, I'd have to spend the whole evening walking in a ditch just to make eye contact.'

'Then why are you so keen for her to be at UpStart?'

'Take a look through her portfolio.'

Lynda wordlessly began to flick through Lizzie's file of articles.

'Those are some pretty impressive interviews for a Campus Newspaper,' explained Spike. 'Some famous names. Difficult, too. A couple of those are infamously impossible to get so much as a soundbite out of. But she got 'em.' Spike paused, watching Lynda skim-read. 'Lynda, this is somebody who can come to an interview with her sweater on inside-out by accident and make everyone else in the office think that's the way it should be done. We are talking a serious master of the Blag, here, and for a newspaper we are really short of that kind of thinker. There's only two other people who can Bullshit that well at this place, and I'm one of them.'

Lynda closed the portfolio. 'Right. And the other one seems to be seriously losing his Mojo…'

She trailed off as Frazz sailed through the office, half an iced bun wedged in his mouth.

'Going out, Frazz?'

'Vox Pops,' mumbled Frazz by way of explanation.

'Like the sweater,' added Spike.

Frazz nodded down at his inside-out jumper. 'It's all the rage, apparently.'

Lynda turned to her boyfriend as Frazz merrily wandered off.

'Staff Room, you say?'

-x-

Liz sat down, cross-legged, on the sofa of the Staff Room, picked up her coffee and took a sip. She screwed up her face and dashed to the sink to spit the foul liquid out again. Only at the moment she did, the young man at the other end of the room threw himself towards the same sink, the same expression of disgust twisting his features. They didn't see each other. They only felt the sudden, sharp pain as their skulls collided.

'Ow!'

Liz stumbled back, clutching her head, finally focusing on the person she had smashed into for the second time that morning.

'Oh. It's you again. Sorry.'

The young man just shrugged.

'So you work here, then,' continued Liz.

'I try not to,' he replied.

'I try not to here now, too,' Liz smiled through the pain, 'I got the job.'

'Great,' winced the youth. 'Listen, I think we got our coffees mixed.'

'I know,' she replied, switching cups with him, 'I got the coffee, you got the milk and sugar.'

'There's coffee in there.'

'Where?'

He pointed into the centre of the plastic cup. 'That beige spot. Right there, in the middle.'

'Oh.' Liz nodded at him, politely. 'Crumpet?'

The young man blinked, opened his mouth to make a response, then floundered, blinking again. Finally, he settled on a very sophisticated 'Eh?'

Liz indicated to the freshly popped toaster. 'I've been doing crumpets. Do you want one?'

'Oh!' The man was still floundering a little. 'No. I'd better not. I didn't sleep last night, and it always makes my stomach play up, I've already thrown up twice this morning, and you didn't want to know that do you, and yet… yes, I am in fact still talking…'

'My tummy always gives me terrible cramps when I've not slept,' interrupted Liz. 'It's no fun, is it?'

'No,' sighed the young man, grateful of the opportunity to change the subject. 'So, you've just been stuck here to wait further instructions, eh?'

'Waiting for the Infamous Lynda Day,' replied Liz. 'Funny that I've got to sort out the Payroll with the Editor.' She sat down, tucking into a crumpet. 'For some reason, I'm never supposed to give my bank details straight to the Financial Director, but nobody's told me why. Why, do you think?'

The man shrugged, chewing his lip. 'I… suppose… there are misunderstandings from time to time, when wages are concerned…'

'Misunderstandings?'

'Sure… I mean,' struggled the youth, 'maybe a couple of times pay cheques were left in the wrong account for a couple of days… weeks.' He paused. 'Everybody was paid in time for Christmas,' he concluded.

'You're mad,' she complimented with a wide smile.

The young man nodded. 'Yep. Apparently I need to see a Psychiatrist.'

'I don't believe that for a second.' Liz took another sip of coffee. 'You appear to be only a Grade D Nutter. I doubt you'd need anyone further up the scale than a failed Psychology student.'

'Right…' He paused in the doorway. 'Your jumper's on inside out, by the way.'

'Yes. I know. You're wearing odd shoes.'

He glanced down at his shoes, blinked, then looked back at her. 'Yes. So I am. That's how they're all wearing them… In Milan.'

Liz grinned as the young man, on leaving the Staff Room, half walked into an equally young woman, wearing an equally crumpled and oversized jacket. The pair shared a brief, hushed exchange – something about still not getting out of an 11 o'clock meeting – before the woman let him leave. She turned again, hit by an afterthought, and shouted after him.

'Actually, Colin, I might end up running late. Could you ask the new Features Editor to get it started for me? Thanks.'

Whatever response the young man had thought up came too late, and was cut off as the young woman shut the door on him, with a brisk smile in Liz's direction.

'Sorry about that,' said the young woman, 'I didn't know you'd been left alone with him. You didn't give him your bank details, did you?'

Liz shook her head. 'Why would I?'

'Well, he's the Boss.' The young woman sat down next to Liz. 'The Money Boss, anyway, which he seems to think makes him more of a Boss than me. He's entitled to his opinion, of course, just so long as he never tries to act on it…'

'That…' Liz pointed off towards the closed door. 'That was the MD?'

'We're trying not to call him that,' replied the woman, sorting her paperwork, 'it'll only go to his head.'

Liz extended a hand to the woman.

'Elizabeth Fish. I'm guessing you're Lynda Day.'

Lynda took the hand, and shook it.

'Welcome to UpStart. Your jumper's on inside out.'


	3. Santa, Baby 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Santa, Baby… (1)

-x-

It was dark. He could hear the wind and rain lashing against the window outside, but he was warm, and he was comfortable. He could feel the soft curves of a naked woman in his arms, curled loosely into him as she slept. Only there was something wrong. A noise. A shrill, annoying noise that was getting louder and louder. He grumbled wordlessly as the sound wrenched him from his doze. He blinked in the gloom, still wondering where the Hell that noise was coming from. The girl at his side stirred and pulled the duvet over her head, irritably.

'Get that bloody alarm clock would you, Spike. Don't you know what time it is?'

Spike stopped the alarm, squinting blearily at the clock.

'I do now. It's a Quarter to Stupidly Early O'Clock. Otherwise known as Time For Me To Get Up.'

He dragged himself out of bed, shivering. A mess of dark curls and a pair of half-open eyes appeared from beneath the covers to watch him.

'You don't have to get up yet.'

'I gotta go to my place before work, Lynda.'

'No you don't.'

Spike pulled his jeans on.

'I haven't been home in three days. My pot plants will have forgotten what I look like by now. Besides, I'm all out of clean underpants.'

'Turn them inside out,' muttered Lynda.

'OK, firstly that's Gross, and secondly I already did that yesterday.' He began stuffing his used clothes into a duffel bag. 'Plus I gotta take a shower, and as good as that Strawberry Gel smells on you, it's not exactly the Manliest of perfumes.'

'Mmmff.' Lynda frowned, still half asleep. Spike leaned into her and smoothed her creased forehead with a light kiss.

He stood back, chewing his lip. 'Aren't you sick of living out of bags all the time, Lynda?'

Lynda closed her eyes again. 'I like spending all night with you.'

'Sure.' He paused, watching her for a moment. 'I like waking up to you. You're really pretty first thing, you know.'

Lynda didn't open her eyes. 'Sod off, Spike. If I looked great first thing I wouldn't waste time or money on make-up would I?'

Spike grinned as he let himself out of her bedroom. 'There's my Lynda.'

'I said, Sod Off. I love you.'

'Love you, too.'

Lynda turned from him, pulling the covers up to her ears. 'Don't be late for work.'

-x-

Lynda didn't turn to face the figure that had stopped in the doorway to the newsroom. She carried on hanging up the Christmas lights over the desks as though she hadn't noticed.

'Dear Father Christmas,' she said, supposedly to herself, 'this year I have mostly been good. I have remembered not to phone Kenny while he is trying to sleep, and I have only made six people cry, and I have not shouted too much at Julie and I have been kind to Colin and I have been especially nice to Spike. For Christmas I would like a bike and a Wendy house and for my friend Sarah to come and work for me over her ridiculously long and lazy Student Holiday.'

Lynda finally gave an impish glance over her shoulder. The Blonde young woman in the doorway crossed her arms, feigning outrage.

'What sort of person would invite her friend to come back to work over Christmas by sending her a letter, post-dated to mid January, telling her she was sacked?'

Lynda carried on hanging up the lights. 'The sort of person who'd know damn well that that friend wouldn't so much as consider coming back if she didn't have a guarantee that she'd be able to get out again.' She extended a hand full of Christmas decorations out to Sarah. 'Make yourself useful then, Sarah. You're not at University now.'

Sarah tutted, but took the gaudy tinsel and began to hang it around the office.

'Must you do this now?' Muttered Sarah, 'don't we have a lot of catching up to do?'

'Christmas Party's tomorrow,' explained Lynda, 'they should at least have a bit of tinsel.'

'Yes, but…'

Sarah was cut off a by a tiny, loud whirlwind bursting into the office – not five feet tall, the interloper had fashioned herself in a very small glittery red dress and bedecked her scruffy Doc Martens with tinsel, topping herself off with a shock of bright red, dyed over her dark hair. She might have been mistaken for one of Santa's Little Helpers, had she not been talking noisily into a mobile telephone in a broad Scottish accent.

'So what about it, then, Babes? Just you and me and the Boys for an hour or two?' She paused, then laughed throatily down the phone. 'Come on now, Sweetheart. Like I'd have ever written that. That was Liz Ford at the NME, I'm telling you. I love those Boys! Can't get enough of them. I was there at their first ever Gig, I'm a huge fan.' The tiny woman paused again, meeting eyes with the other women, and pointing her forefingers into her mouth, mockingly. 'Oh, you're funny,' she continued sultrily down the phone, 'you really are, Sweetheart. Come on, I bet they're free for a half hour Tuesday. Yeah? OK. See you there. And you.'

She flipped the phone off, irritably, glaring at Lynda. 'I got the interview with that bloody awful Rock Band like you wanted,' she announced.

'Excellent,' said Lynda.

'Who?' Sarah asked.

The tiny woman perched herself on a desk. 'Dark Leanings,' she told the Blonde. 'The Next Big Thing, apparently.'

Sarah gurned. 'Oh, they're crap.'

'I know,' replied the Scot, 'they're a third rate Nirvana tribute act at best. I still stick by what I wrote before – if they really wanted to emulate Kurt Cobain, they should just do us all a favour and shoot themselves in the head, know what I mean?'

Sarah giggled. 'I remember that review. Was that you who wrote it?'

'No,' replied the little woman, 'you're getting me confused with Liz Ford at the NME.'

'Is there a Liz Ford at the NME?' asked Sarah, innocently.

'There is now.' The short woman gave Sarah a brief, mischievous smile before turning to Lynda and suddenly changing the subject. 'Where's Sir?'

'Who's "Sir"?' asked Sarah, but she was ignored.

'The New Year's Back Page pulled,' replied Lynda. 'He's just phoning the most gullible customers on the files, getting it resold. Why do you ask?'

'Show starts in less than an hour,' explained the tiny Scot, 'and we still need to go through how I'm going to get cut in half without losing my boots.'

Lynda rolled her eyes skywards. 'Oh no. Tell me he didn't actually talk you into standing in for The Lovely Elaine.'

The girl in red shrugged and sat down in a swivel chair, crossing her legs underneath her. 'Friends In Need, and all that Jazz. Besides, it sounds like a giggle, and I've got nothing else on tonight except bad Soap Operas and cold pizza.'

'Lizzie,' snapped Lynda, 'I take it you are aware that the reason the original Lovely Elaine can't do the show tonight is that she's currently in hospital with a severe laceration across her waist.'

'Yeah. What's your point?'

'My point is that half the staff are taking long Christmas holidays and we've still got three issues to get to the printer's before New Year's Eve. I can't afford for you to get your legs sawn off.'

'Does anybody want to explain,' said Sarah, 'what the Hell is going o…'

She was interrupted again, by a far more familiar voice, also engaged in a loud conversation over a mobile telephone.

'People have gardens all year round, you know. What makes you think nobody does any gardening in January? So it's a bit cold. All they need is the right incentive…' Colin, wearing a terrible suit and carrying a bouffant Blonde wig, made no note of either Lynda or Sarah, but hurried straight towards the tiny woman curled up in the swivel chair as he talked. 'I'm talking about a January Sale. Everybody else does them, why not a Garden Centre? It's a great idea, but you have to let people know about it, and everybody sees the back page…' Tucking the phone under his chin, he freed up a hand and, to Sarah's astonishment, began to comb through the uncomplaining Scot's brightly dyed bob with his fingers. 'Well, of course our readership do gardening. Are you trying to tell me that gardening isn't the sort of Hip and Trendy pastime that young adults enjoy doing? I'm a Young Professional, and there's nothing I like better on a Saturday than getting to grips with a mucky little hoe…'

The girl in red snatched the phone out from under his chin.

'Colin, are you talking about Gardening?' she asked into the handset.

He grinned, and pulled her hair up into a topknot, fixing the Blonde wig over it.

'How can you be talking about Gardening without telling me?' she continued, 'you know how much I love doing my garden, and discussing doing my garden with the many like minded Young Professional Gardening Enthusiasts that there are round these parts…' She handed the handset back to Colin.

'Sorry about that,' added Colin, holding the wig straight while the girl secured it with hairgrips, 'my friends get pretty passionate when it comes to Garden Centres… You'll take it?' Colin gave Lynda a wide smile. 'Well, since it's a late cancellation, and since it's you, £500. And that is a fraction of how much we usually sell it for. Great. Great. We'll invoice you as usual.' He laughed a loud, fake laugh. 'Yeah. And you.' He switched off the phone and pushed it into his coat pocket. 'Done.'

'I thought the Back Page always went at £500,' said Lynda.

'Yep.'

'But you said…' began Sarah.

'A hundred percent is a fraction,' replied Colin. 'Am I right, Lizziefish?'

The girl in the wig beamed up at him. 'Right you are, Sir.'

'See? Moral support _and_ respect. Why can't all women be like The Fish?'

'Who's "The Fish"?' asked Sarah, now utterly bewildered.

Colin tutted. '"Who's The Fish?" Honestly Sarah. You've been in India too long.'

'University…' corrected Sarah.

Well, nobody will be asking "Who's The Fish" after tonight, eh?' He patted the be-wigged girl on the shoulders. 'Let's go and make you a Starfish.'

He began to push the girl, chair and all, towards the doors. She threw her hands to the air merrily as she was wheeled past the flummoxed student.

'Hooray! Where's my Fifty Quid?'

And then the fast moving whirlwind of noise and colour was gone. The doors shut behind them, and the office fell quiet once more.

Sarah stared at Lynda. 'What in the Hell was that?'

Lynda carried on hanging tinsel. 'Half of that was Liz, our new reporter - been here a couple of weeks. The other half I think you've already been acquainted with.'

'"Other half"?' repeated Sarah with a half-smile, 'you mean, they're…'

'Of course not.' Lynda got up on a desk to fix a stray decoration to the ceiling. 'This is Colin we're talking about.'

'But they've got to be made for each other!'

'I know that,' replied Lynda, 'you know that, pretty much everybody in the office knows that. I just don't think they've worked it out themselves yet.'

'Lynda, I've never seen him flirt so well before. He was like a natural. And she seemed to enjoy it.'

'Yes. That's why it'd be a shame to ruin it.' Lynda climbed down from the desk. 'If he thought something Romantic might be on the cards with her, he'd only start Trying. And you know what happens when he Tries.'

Sarah nodded. 'Death and destruction. Julie told me about her pets.'

'Exactly.' Lynda set to making sure all the computers were switched off. 'I don't want any more blood on my hands, which is why I have solemnly sworn against ever trying to set that boy up with a date again. They'll just have to sort it out themselves.' She glanced up at Sarah. 'How's _your_ love life, by the way?'

'Doing just fine, even without any help from you, thanks,' replied Sarah, warily.

'Anybody special?'

A sly smile started up on Sarah's lips. 'Listen to yourself, Lynda. You've become one of those Monogamous Busybodies you always used to hate.'

'No I haven't. What are you talking about?'

'Things going well with Spike, are they?'

'Yes. I suppose.' Lynda started putting on her coat. 'What do you mean, "Busybody"?'

'It happens all the time,' smiled Sarah. 'A girl gets really settled in a relationship, so she stops worrying about it – stops thinking about it, even. But she still needs something to concentrate all that energy on, so she starts trying to match up all her single friends.' She giggled a little. 'You're turning into your Aunt Ruth.'

Lynda folded her arms indignantly, opening and closing her mouth in search of a comeback. Unfortunately, a small 'Shut up, Sarah,' was all that she could come up with.

Sarah turned towards the door. 'Come on, Aunt Ruth. We've got a bottle of wine and four months worth of stories to get through.'

'Fine,' replied Lynda. 'Hang on while I get my Zimmer Frame.'

-x-

Spike waited patiently for Frazz to stop laughing. That is, he waited patiently for Frazz to stop laughing for about five minutes, and then when it had become clear that the laughter wasn't about to stop any time soon, carried on talking over him.

'So, tell me what you think.'

Frazz couldn't speak. His hysterics only got louder and more violent. He shook his head at Spike, wiping tears from his eyes.

'You think she'll like it?'

'It's the stupidest thing…' Frazz managed, 'the most ridiculous thing I ever heard…'

'Yes, but will she like it?'

'She'll hate it, Spike,' laughed Frazz, 'she'll kill you. You know she will. And that's not even the point.'

'Well, enlighten me, Oh Guru of the Fairer Sex.'

'I can't believe you even want to give it a try,' replied Frazz, 'I mean, look at yourself, Spike. What have you become? What has that woman turned you into? Seriously, Man, right now I don't know whether to laugh or cry…'

'Well, right now you seem to be happy doing both,' sulked the American.

Frazz brushed another tear away. 'Don't get me wrong, Mate. It's a sweet idea, but Come On. Seriously. This is Lynda. You need to think this through.'

'I have thought it through,' replied Spike, curtly. 'Like it or not, Buddy, she _is_ The One. And I think we've been making it work together for long enough for me to…'

'Look who's back, Spike!'

Spike jumped a little at Colin's voice behind him. He wasn't quick enough moving the object from his desk, however. Not that Colin noticed, or would have correctly put two and two together if he had… but Sarah Jackson was standing silently at the Financial Director's side. Sarah Jackson who always stood quietly, watching and listening. Spike saw her clock the ring box in his hand before he had chance to shove it in his pocket. Still, the Blonde girl didn't say a word, but watched his guilty expression with a strange look on her face.

'Hey, Sarah.'

Sarah nodded. 'Spike. Frazz. Both still alive and well, I see.'

'Uh huh…' Spike eyed Sarah, worriedly. 'Listen, Sarah, I got deadlines coming outta my Wazzoo today. Can we catch up at the party tonight?'

Sarah nodded again, calmly. 'Sure thing, Spike.' Without another word, she sailed off to greet a few more old friends from the old paper.

'Lynda got her to come back?' Frazz asked anybody who was listening.

'Just to help out over the Holidays,' nodded Colin. 'Sweet of her to come back all the way from India just for that, though. She hasn't got much of a tan, considering, has she?'

Spike chewed a pencil. 'Colin, I think she's been at University.'

'She went to University in India?' Colin raised his eyebrows. 'That girl! What will she think of next…?' He trailed off as his attention was caught by something small and brightly coloured at the other end of the office. 'Lizziefish! Still in one piece?'

'Both little legs present and correct, Sir!' Liz called back.

Colin left the two lads to go and talk to the diminutive reporter. Spike drummed his fingertips on the desk, watching Sarah mingle out of the corner of his eye.

Frazz leaned in to him. 'At least change the box, Mate.'

'It's the only nice box I could find that was the right size.'

'It's a ring box, Spike. She's going to think it's even worse than it actually is.'

'Exactly.' Spike gave his friend a small, worried smile. 'She'll be so relieved she might not murder me.'

'Spike…' Frazz shook his head in despair. 'You have _met_ Lynda Day, haven't you?'

'Oh no,' said Liz loudly as Colin approached, 'here comes my scary Boss. Better look busy.' She pretended to write furiously on her pad as he met her, spinning her around in her chair.

'Ladder in your tights, Fish.'

'Belt unbuckled, Sir.'

Colin stopped Liz's chair from spinning and saw to his latest Wardrobe Malfunction. 'Big party tonight, Lizziefish.'

'Glad Rags at the ready, Sir.' Liz paused, her expression becoming serious. 'Sir? Can I ask you something?'

Colin looked up from his belt, a flicker of panic in his eye. 'What?'

She beamed. 'Where the Hell is my fifty quid?'


	4. Santa, Baby 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Santa, Baby (2)

-x-

'I should'a said somethin'.'

'Probably.'

Spike nervously paced the office floor, letting Frazz move the desks aside by himself.

'I mean, how was I to know they were gonna get ready together?'

'Spike…' Frazz attempted to pick up a small desk, gave up and started dragging it. 'Firstly, they're two birds who haven't seen each other in months. Natter, natter, natter. Secondly, they're Lynda Day and Sarah Jackson, and neither of them are capable of dressing themselves. They both need all the help they can get.'

Spike poked a little at the buffet. 'She's gonna tell her. I know it. And then she's gonna come to the party thinking I'm about to… y'know…'

'She's going to think you're about to "You Know" when she sees the box anyway,' replied Frazz. 'Now, is there any chance of a hand with this furniture? We need a dance space for you to ritualistically humiliate yourself on.'

'Said the Pot to the Kettle,' answered Spike, grabbing a desk, 'I've seen the way you dance.'

-x-

Lynda was happy to walk arm in arm with Sarah to the party. Having her back, even short term, only served to remind her how much she missed her old friend. Julie was no substitute – neither for Sarah nor for Kenny. In fact, most of her few hours getting ready with Sarah had been spent sharing bitchy gossip about the new Assistant Editor and whatever shaved monkey she might be bringing along that night.

Still, Sarah seemed distracted.

'What's up?' Lynda asked for the tenth time.

The reply, as it had been the nine times before, was just a shake of the head, a small smile and a flat 'Nothing'.

'Something's up,' said Lynda.

'Seriously, Lynda.' Sarah avoided Lynda's eye. 'It's nothing.' She cleared her throat. 'So, are you looking forward to your first proper Office Party? Lots of booze, lots of flirtation and resentment, always at least one big fight and a completely random couple getting off their faces and snogging in a corner?'

'Don't change the subject, Sarah,' snapped Lynda, 'that's my trick…'

'Ladies!'

Before the two young women could share any more of their exchange, they suddenly found themselves on either side of a particularly excitable Colin.

'Can I just say, Lynda,' he beamed, putting him arms around them both, 'how much I appreciate you not asking me to organise this party? I mean, I know I'd have been you first choice, but you know how busy I've been of late, and it has been a weight off my mind…'

'She'd never have asked you, Colin,' replied Sarah, 'because nobody wants us to end up with your Nan as a DJ again.'

'…besides,' continued Colin without so much as a blink, 'Frazz is a good kid, deep down. This could be a big break for him, it'll mean a lot to him, I know.' He paused momentarily for breath, glancing at the young women. 'You two look nice…?'

There was a definite expectant inflection in his tone.

'So do you,' replied Lynda, graciously.

Colin feigned embarrassed surprise at the compliment.

'Oh. Really? Do you think so? As girls, I mean, do you think so?'

'If I weren't with Spike,' said Lynda with a mocking smile, 'and you weren't Colin, I definitely Would.'

Colin raised his eyebrows, uncharacteristically holding the main office door open for the two girls. 'Well. Lynda, I don't know what to…' he spied the tiny girl in black velvet, battling to remove an overlong scarf in the foyer. 'Lizziefish!' His attention switched as immediately and thoroughly as a Labrador puppy with a new Squeaky Toy, he rushed to Liz's aid, leaving the abandoned door to swing back into Lynda's waiting palm.

'Such a Gentleman,' muttered Sarah as they strolled through the foyer.

Colin greeted Liz with a broad smile as he attempted to help her with her scarf, but only managed to get further entangled himself. It took a moment of concentration before they were able to stop struggling and wordlessly begin the unwinding process.

'You look nice,' he said as he freed her left hand from where the scarf had caught it behind her back.

'Thanks. So do you.'

He pulled the fake modest expression again. 'Oh. Really? Do you think so?'

Sarah nudged Lynda as they loitered at the Reception desk, pretending to check Memos.

'Sure you do,' Liz nodded. 'I'm a fool for a man in a good suit.'

That threw him. He began to get the Thousand Yard Stare.

'Thanks,' said his mouth before his brain had time to interject, 'I was shot in it.'

At the Reception desk, Lynda pinched the bridge of her nose, and began to swiftly move towards the newsroom door.

'You're going to have to help him,' muttered Sarah, opening the door.

'I've already said,' whispered Lynda, 'I'm not going to get invol…'

And then the door was shut, and he was on his own with her. Bizarrely, the little Scot seemed impressed.

'Shot? You mean by a film crew?'

'No. By a gun. With a Nutter… a Nutter with a gun.' He watched her shocked expression, willing himself to stop wittering. 'He blew his brains out not long after that but it's OK because he made me take the jacket off first and the Dry Cleaners got the blood right out of the trousers and… and, like you say, it's a good suit…'

'Sir…' Liz looked astounded. 'Sir, that was _you_? You were the one who went back in, when the Police told you not to, and ended up getting injured…'

'Lynda reckons he only meant to scare us,' added Colin, despite himself, 'that if he meant to kill me he would have, since he was at point blank range…'

'Point Blank? Jesus! Did it hurt really badly?'

Colin shrugged. It wasn't an act of machismo, he just hadn't been asked such that question before. 'Yes.'

'Did you cry?'

'No.'

'Wow.'

There was a brief, awkward pause between them, broken as the party music started up in the newsroom.

Colin cleared his throat, weakly indicating towards the door. 'Best go and mingle.'

'Greet the Fans,' agreed Liz, and she followed him through to the party, passing Spike and Sarah as they strode through into the foyer.

'So you managed to get all those Deadlines out of your Wazzoo, then?' asked Sarah.

'Don't be like that, Sarah,' cooed Spike, 'you know how it gets in this place. So how's about that catch-up we promised each other?'

Sarah stopped and turned to Spike folding her arms. 'All right, then. I'll run through the basics of what I've been doing with the last few months: Studied Marlowe, drank beer, ate pasta, studied Virginia Woolfe, slept, kissed a Maths student and a New Age Christian, danced to The Levellers, caught a cold.' She paused, watching him. 'Oh no, but that's not the bit you're interested in, is it? OK, I'll carry on. Came back, unpacked, saw my friend Lynda, didn't tell her about the engagement ring in your pocket. How's that?'

Spike sighed, relieved. 'You didn't tell her.'

'No.'

'Sarah, I could kiss you.'

'Not if you're getting married to my best mate, you couldn't.'

Spike shook his head, grinning. 'It's not a ring, Sarah. It's just the box.'

Sarah blinked. 'It's not a ring? You're not going to propose? Then why are you being so secretive?'

With a shifty look around himself to check nobody was watching, he pulled the box from his trouser pocket.

'Take a look for yourself.'

He opened up the box for a moment, letting Sarah peer inside.

'Spike. Is that what I think it is?'

'Yep.' Spike snapped the box shut again and pushed it back into his pocket.

Sarah smiled a wild, lopsided smile. 'You've flipped your lid.'

'I flipped it the moment I saw her, Sarah. I haven't been able to find it since.'

'So why aren't you happy with things the way they are?'

Spike inspected a thumbnail. 'I guess I just feel it's reached that kinda time. I don't wanna be stuck with a Dead Shark.'

'What?'

'Annie Hall?' Spike shook his head in despair at Sarah's nonplussed expression. 'No time for quality movies in between all the reading, kissing and pasta, huh?'

'It wasn't always pasta,' grinned Sarah. 'One time, I even ate a potato!'

'A whole one, huh?' Spike opened the door to the newsroom open for the Student. 'So… a New Age Christian, huh?'

Sarah nodded, proudly. 'He only ever wore purple.'

The doors shut again, leaving the foyer with only coats and Christmas lights and the muffled echoes of the party in the next room.

-x-

Lynda sat happily in a corner, watching the party unfold. Frazz had done a surprisingly good job. The DJ was cheap and inexperienced, but was capable of keeping the dance floor reasonably full. The food was good, there were plenty of cans of beer and bottles of wine. The sex and violence that Sarah had promised were mercifully absent. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. Spike was off dancing with a large, mainly female crowd, shooting her little looks from time to time and mouthing for her to join him, which she declined. She was happier to keep an eye on him – on all of them – from her corner. She glanced to the table beside her. Colin was still lurking, prodding dubiously at the buffet.

'I'd have got this for you much cheaper,' he muttered.

'It would have been made out of stray cats,' replied Lynda, 'and it would _still_ have been out of date.'

Colin shook his head, pushing his hands into his pockets. 'Like I'd feed you Roadkill, Kid. Not at Christmas, anyway.'

'Tis the Season,' answered Lynda, watching the dancers.

Colin turned to watch them with her. 'She's still dancing with him.'

Lynda folded her arms, following his gaze. 'They're not really dancing, you know. He's more sort-of Running Her Over, rhythmically.' She glanced up at him. 'You should rescue her, really.'

Colin just chewed his lip.

'What do you want for Christmas, Colin?'

He frowned at her. 'You're not getting me a present. You've never got me a present. Last "present" you gave me was a Bunch Of Fives. I got all excited about it and you just hit me.'

'I'm not offering to buy you a present. I'm just asking you to think about what you want. What do you honestly want, more than anything?'

'Sir! Sir!' Liz had fought her way off the dance floor and was heading straight towards Colin, gaudy tinsel glittering in her hair and boots. Lynda caught a panicked edge to his expression when the Scottish girl took his hand.

'Would you be a Kindly Sir and rescue a fair Damsel?'

Lynda stood up and smoothed down her dress. 'You seemed to be doing all right.'

'Did you realise Billy was Wheelchair Bound, Lynda?' grinned Liz, 'Because I never noticed until the tenth time he mentioned it. Seriously, I slipped into a Boredom Induced Coma three times back there at the very least. Only reason I'm awake now is he kept bringing me back into consciousness by driving on my feet.' Liz blinked at Colin. 'So how about it, Sir? Will you dance with me instead?'

Colin shot Lynda a desperate glance, which she ignored.

'I…' he floundered, 'I can't.'

'What's up?' Liz raised her eyebrows. 'Your feet glued to the ground?'

'I can't dance…'

'Well if you're not dancing,' announced Lynda, 'I will.' She began to stroll towards her boyfriend on the dance floor, pretending not to hear the terrified little hisses behind her.

'…l'nda… l'nda..?'

Liz poured out a couple of plastic beakers of wine, handing one to Colin.

'Everybody can dance, Sir. I'm not expecting Fred Astaire, just stand on the dance floor and move in a semi rhythmic fashion.'

'I can't,' explained Colin. 'I've tried, I just can't. I look like a broken marionette held together with rubber bands falling down a flight of stairs.'

'And how do you know that?'

'People tell me, Fish.' Colin took a deep drink from the plastic cup. 'Weirdly enough they always use that analogy. The likeness must be uncanny.'

Liz nodded. 'Fine.'

'You go and dance,' said Colin.

'No,' replied Liz, 'I'll stay here and drink. Can you drink?'

'Not really,' he replied, finishing off the beakerful. 'Can't hold it. There's, um…' He gave a small smile to the floor, indicating his stature with his free hand. 'There's not enough to me.'

'There's plenty to you, Sir…' Liz looked away, quickly changing the subject. 'I'm crap at drinking too, but I like it, anyway. From a Psychology point of view. You become so different, so uninhibited…' she sipped at the wine, screwing up her face. 'This wine is bloody disgusting, though.'

'There's beer.'

'Please. I'd rather drink aftershave. Are there no spirits?'

'Not here.'

Liz gave him a sly smile. 'What do you mean, "not here"?'

'Er…' Colin faltered nervously.

'You've got a Reserve, haven't you?'

'Um…'

'What is it?' Liz beamed. 'Is it illegal?'

Colin leaned in to her, keeping his voice low. 'I'm holding a crate, for a friend. Gutrot, from one of those Eastern European countries that's always changing its name. Not quite aftershave, but almost as good.'

Liz mirrored his conspiratorial stance. 'You think your friend would mind if one went missing?'

'Mind? Yes. Notice? Probably not. He has trouble counting,' added Colin, 'on account of that he's only got six and a half fingers.'

'Well then why not give the Fish a drink?' Liz eyeballed him. 'Go on. I'll knock a tenner off that fifty you owe me.'

'Still haven't forgotten about that money, eh?'

Liz just grinned at him. He sighed.

'Step into my office.'


	5. Santa, Baby 3

REMAIN THE SAME

Santa, Baby 3

-x-

The bottles had red labels in a language neither of them could even begin to comprehend. The liquid inside was a cloudy off-white and smelled of petrol. These are the sounds that both of them made when they swallowed their first mouthfuls:

'Bleeeeuuuurgh!'

'Guh!'

'Nyanyanyanyah!'

'Blululululuh!'

'Grrrrrrrraaahhh!'

'Wooo, Mama!'

Luckily, the sounds of the party drowned them out. Still, they had taken the precaution of leaving the lights off in the office, and hiding under Colin's desk.

'That is,' said Liz, refilling both of their cups, 'officially the worst thing I've ever tasted. What's it even made of?'

'Potatoes,' replied Colin, 'I think. I hope. Could be turnips.'

'I think it's just made of Alcohol,' grinned Liz, knocking back another mouthful.

'It _is_ strong.' Colin hiccupped.

Liz laughed. So did Colin. After about a minute he paused, swaying slightly.

'What are we laughing about?'

'Don't know, Sir.'

Colin hiccupped again, and they both burst into hysterics.

-x-

Lynda was actually quite enjoying dancing with Spike, even though it was in front of her Minions. She was probably completely out of synch with the beat, but her boyfriend didn't seem to care. He took her by both hands and led her as best he could.

She caught a strange look in his eyes – fondly mocking, but there was something else beneath it. Some sort of nervous excitement, like the look he'd had that first time that the kissing had turned into Fooling Around, or the first time that the Fooling Around had become something far more adult, and far less foolish.

'What?'

He grinned at her. 'I thought you could dance OK.'

She blinked down at her awkwardly moving feet. 'This music's too fast,' she replied, 'I'm having trouble…'

He dipped his head down towards her. 'Are you trying to tell me you wanna Slow Dance?'

'Spike…'

'Hey!' Spike stopped in his tracks, raising his hands up in the air. By that strange magic he was able to wield over his peers, the party ground to a halt, watching him. 'Ladies and Gentlemen, our Noble Leader has spoken. It's time for a Slow Dance.'

The spell he wove worked. The other dancers nodded, and either paired up or sat down, and the DJ changed to a slow, saccharine record. Spike put his hands on Lynda's hips, but she batted them away.

'Spike, you don't have Slow Dances 'til the end of the party.'

Spike put his arms around her waist, pressing himself against her and slowly swaying.

'I don't see a rule book anywhere, Boss. Do you?'

Lynda scowled for a brief moment, then relented, putting her head on his shoulder.

'Even if there was, you wouldn't read it.'

'Not unless there were pictures I could colour in.'

-x-

'Oh. Eurgh.' Liz swallowed another cupful of Turnip Schnapps in disgust, then refilled both beakers. 'Bloody Slow Dance. The curse of the School Disco. Sitting alone in a corner pretending not to care that all your mates were Copping Off with somebody and you weren't.' She took another swig. 'That was me, anyway. You wouldn't have had that problem, would you, Sir?'

Colin leaned against the inside of the desk to keep himself semi upright. 'I'd usually leave before the end,' he told her, 'start selling fizzy pop outside, or Skittles in blister packs to the druggy kids. Anything to save myself the ritual humiliation…' he licked his lips, thickly. 'I'm going to tell you something, Lizziefish. I want to tell you. It's something that might shock you, but I'm going to tell you because you're the Fish and I like you.' He paused, clutching the bottle for stability. 'I'm a disaster when it comes to women.'

'No!'

'Are you being… are you being… are you making fun of me, Fish… fishyfish?'

Liz wrinkled her nose with an impish smile. 'Little bit. But you're fine with Lynda, aren't you..?'

'She doesn't count.'

'And you're fine around me.'

'You… You're different, Fish.'

'How?' Liz took the bottle from him and swigged straight from it. 'Good different or bad different?'

'Don't know.' Colin frowned at his knees. 'Am… am I an experiment, Lizziefish?'

Liz smiled widely. 'Shouldn't you be asking that to the secret laboratory you broke free from?'

'I mean one of your psychometric… psychopathic… psychomological experiments…'

'I failed Psychology, Sir. Too depressing.' Liz took another swig. 'Too much a case of 'Physician, Heal Thyself' as far as I'm concerned.'

Colin fiddled with a loose screw beneath the desk. 'Then why do you pretend to like me?'

'I don't pretend.'

'Why not?'

'You make me laugh.'

'Yeah, but that's not enough, is it?' Colin took the bottle back off Liz. 'I mean, we're sitting in a darkened office, drinking smuggled Meths under a desk. That's a pretty run of the mill stuff for me, it's the sort of thing I just find myself doing. What sort of girl wants to get involved with somebody like that?'

Liz rested her head against his. 'Plenty.'

'Well, I've never met one.'

'Yes you have.'

'No,' sighed Colin, cryptically, 'she didn't really mean it.'

'Sir?'

'Hmm?' He turned his face to hers.

'Who did you think I was talking about?'

'Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter any more.' He reached up, drunkenly, and fiddled with the bright tinsel in Liz's hair. 'You're good to talk to, Lizziefish.'

'You're good to listen to, Sir. It's like watching a rose open.' She paused as he failed to understand her. 'Do you like me, Sir?'

Colin faltered.

'I knew you didn't,' Liz sighed. 'You're not a disaster around me, for starters.'

'Fish…' Colin still struggled for words. 'Yes I am.'

'Wha…?'

'I'm always freezing up with you, saying stupid things, doing stupid things. But you just carry on as if it's perfectly normal, and all of a sudden I don't feel like an idiot, and I can get over it.'

'Oh.' Liz blinked. 'So… you _do_ like me? As a friend, you mean, though?'

Colin shook his head, concentrating on the loose screw again. 'No way, Fishcakes. I've been getting the most disgusting dreams…' he winced and bit his lip, stopping himself going any further.

'I see…' Liz took another swig. 'You mean like the one where I forget to wear any clothes to work and you discover that the company discipline policy for that particular oversight is very unusual indeed?'

'Don't remember that one,' frowned Colin.

'I do,' replied Liz, 'It's one of my favourites.'

Another silence fell between them. Still Colin focused on the inside of the desk rather than the girl at his side.

'Are you going to make me spell it out to you, Sir?'

'What idiot put this desk together, Lizziefish?'

'I'm trying to tell you that I like you. I have designs upon you of a sexual nature.'

'It must have been me. I'm no good with drills.'

'And, apparently you like me too… are you even listening to me?'

'But then again I can't see Lynda letting me play with power tools, can you?'

'Why are you ignoring me, Sir?'

He turned to face her again, blind panic etched on his features. 'I think I've got a screw loose.'

'I think so, too.' Lizzie set the bottle down by her feet and ran a hand up the nape of his neck. 'I think you should see a Psychologist.'

He couldn't think of an answer. He didn't need to. That was the moment at which she pulled herself into him and kissed him.

-x-

It was all going so well. And then he had to go and bloody well ruin it.

'Happy, Boss?'

She was pressed entirely into him, her hands on the muscular inward curve of his back, feeling his firm flesh moving beneath his shirt as he danced with her. Her head was still on his shoulder, inhaling his scent. His lips were in her hair, muttering to her. They may as well have been alone together, but they weren't. They were in her office, with her staff, the people who made her paper. Her paper. Her staff. Her boyfriend. Her party.

'Yes, Spike. I'm happy.'

'Good.' He moved away from her a little, digging into his trouser pocket. 'Lynda, I'd like to ask you a question.'

_Oh God…_

'I'd like for you to make my Christmas. Make my whole year.'

_Oh dear God, no…_

'Lynda Day?' He pulled out a small box – the kind that jewellers put rings into. 'Would you give me the best Christmas present of all?'

'No!' She leaped back in horror. 'No, no, no! No, Spike, no!'

The other revellers began to stop dancing and stared at the unfolding scene.

'Lynda?' Spike half smiled, half grimaced, his irritation at her response burning through his confidence. 'You don't even know what I'm going to ask you.'

'Not here, Spike,' muttered Lynda, still backing away, 'not now.' She jumped backwards as Spike tried to approach her. She landed hard against the drinks table, toppling it, sending glass bottle upon glass bottle crashing to the floor. If the escalating fall-out hadn't caught the attention of any partygoers in the office already, the almighty smash meant that it had now. The music scratched to a silence.

-x-

There was a smash, then the sound of scratching vinyl, then the world fell into a deep, black silence. His eyes were wide open in panic against the darkness anyway. He was kissing. He was being kissed. He hadn't been kissed in a long time, not for well over a year. It was the same. It was all happening again. She was so beautiful, and she seemed to want him so much. She was kissing him so desperately, so covetously, as if it was the only time they'd ever get to be that way.

It _was_ happening again.

It wasn't fair. He liked Liz. He really, really liked her. She was so much fun to be around. He felt like he didn't need to try to impress her. He wanted to try, but he didn't need to. She made him feel good about being himself. And now he was going to destroy it all. Why did he have to go and tell her that he liked her? Why?

It was happening again, and he was going to scare her away. Somehow he was going to manage to do it, like he always did, and then he wouldn't be able to talk to her any more. And the longer he let it carry on, the worse it was going to be.

He remembered being kissed like that before, but the memory of it came complete with that look on the girl's face when she pulled away from him, that look like she'd only just managed to focus on him, had only just realised what she was doing, and how stupid the whole situation was. She'd looked sick. She'd looked disgusted. The last time he ever saw her face, and it was full of so much repulsion… He couldn't cope with that again. Not with The Fish, not with his pretty little Fish.

He pulled out of the kiss suddenly, hitting his head on the desk.

'You OK, Sir?'

'I'm sorry, Liz. I'm really sorry.'

Liz watched him as he crawled out from under the desk. 'Colin?'

'I can't do this again.' He wrenched at the window. The cold night air blasted in as he wrenched it open. 'Not with you.'

'I see.' Still under the desk, Liz made a grab for the bottle.

'Sorry,' he muttered again, and then he was gone.

-x-

Everybody was standing still as stone, in silence, looking at them. It felt as though a chill breeze swept through the office.

'There's no need for you to panic, Lynda,' scowled Spike. 'It's not a ring. Don't worry, I wouldn't dare asking you to humiliate yourself by marrying a nobody like me.'

'You wouldn't?' Lynda blinked, her shocked expression flickering swiftly to one of anger. 'Why not?'

'Don't start, Lynda.' Spike waved the box at her. 'You've just made your feelings on the matter all too clear to me and to everybody here.'

Lynda pointed accusatorially at the American. 'You deliberately made me think you were going to propose when you weren't. You tricked me! What's in there, anyway?'

He opened up the box and pulled out a small house key for her to see. 'It's a key, Lynda. I wanted to give you this key.'

'A key?'

'Yeah. A key to my apartment. I thought it might be cool if we were to move in together.'

Lynda's eyes narrowed. 'Move in together? Into that grotty little flat, all dry rot and mouldy dishes?'

'Oh, sure!' Spike fumed, 'because Her Highness has to live in a Palace, right? Like you ever vacuum, like you ever iron…'

'Thought you'd turn that dump into a nice little Shag Pad, did you, Spike? Thought you could get me to play the Little Woman? Domesticate me?'

'I can't domesticate you! You're barely housetrained!'

'So that's it, Spike?' Lynda folded her arms, angrily. 'I'm good enough to shack up with, but not good enough to marry?'

'I am 21 years old, Lynda Day. I've been into you since I was 17. Those are some pretty young ages just to jump into a wedding with somebody who I don't know for sure I can live with. I don't want the kind of marriage my folks did, and you have just made it very, very clear that you don't either.'

'No I didn't.'

'You saw a ring box and you threw yourself into a table screaming "No, no, no Spike, no". How am I supposed to take that as anything but a flat rejection?'

'Of course I rejected you! That's part of my plan! I have to reject you at least five times before I finally say "Yes", so considering I still plan on getting married before I'm 30 I'd start asking sooner rather than later if I were you…'

Spike pushed his fingers through his hair in disbelief. 'You are some piece of work, woman! Y'know, people have been telling me this was a bad idea all day, that I shouldn't even have bothered, but I thought you were a little more mature than they did. Maybe I should have listened to them.'

'"People"?' Lynda tensed up with fury, like a cobra ready to strike. 'What "people"?'

Spike hissed through clenched teeth. 'Ah, shit.'

'I… saw the box this afternoon,' said a small voice from the corner of the dancefloor. Everybody turned to see an apologetic looking Sarah.

'You saw it?' Lynda seethed, approaching the Blonde, slowly. 'You saw him with it, Sarah, and you didn't tell me?'

'I… I didn't really know what it was…' attempted Sarah, 'I just saw it in his hands, and…'

Spike grabbed Lynda's shoulders, stopping her. 'Don't take it out on her, Boss. She only got a glimpse of it by accident when I was showing Frazz.'

Behind Spike, Frazz slapped his forehead.

Lynda's eyes widened in mortification. '_Frazz?_'

'Dammit,' muttered Spike, 'I did it again.'

Lynda opened her arms wide, addressing the whole office. 'Anybody else here know about this before I did? Julie? Tidge?'

'How could I,' came Tiddler's disgruntled voice from behind a gaggle of taller UpStart employees, 'I only work here Saturdays…'

'I hope you emailed Kenny,' continued Lynda, undeterred, 'he'd hate to be out of the loop about this!'

'…drama queen…' muttered somebody in the crowd. She was probably not meant to hear the comment, but she did.

Lynda blinked, smiling a bright, predatory smile through her fury. 'Right!' She pushed her way over to the DJ and snatched his microphone from him. 'That's it,' she announced, 'party's over.'

'What?'

'Slow dance always comes at the end of the party,' she spat. 'It's over. Sod off home, the lot of you. And God help anyone who comes in late or hungover tomorrow.'

A mass groan of disappointment went up from the partygoers, and those who knew their Editor well began to shuffle moodily towards the door.

'Nice one, Spike,' mumbled Frazz as he passed the American on his way out.

Spike ignored his friend, staying stock still, glaring at Lynda, arms folded in defiance.

'You too, Jerkface,' Lynda told Spike over the PA system, 'it's not like you don't have your key.'

'I'll go home, Lynda,' growled Spike, 'I'll go home, alone, and lock the door and disconnect the phone and enjoy my bed to myself for a change.'

'Please do,' said Lynda into the hapless DJ's microphone.

Spike shook his head. 'There's you trying to set other people up all the time and you still can't even work out what you want for yourself. What the Hell are you thinking? What the Hell was _I_ even thinking?'

'Christ knows,' Lynda said into the mike, 'now Bugger Off, would you?'

Spike turned to go, pausing briefly at the doors. 'Happy Christmas, Darling.'

Lynda grinned frostily, and half spat, half sang down the microphone to him as he left with the dregs of the party.

'Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last…'

The doors slammed on her. She handed the microphone back to the bemused DJ and stepped onto the empty dance floor, wiping a couple of foolishly loosened tears from her eyes. She paused for a moment, staring over at the Financial Director's office door, then marched over to it.

'I know you're in there,' she said, opening the door in the gloom, 'it's all right, they've all gone home now.' There was no reply. She frowned, stepping further into the freezing, dark office. 'You don't have someone in there with you, do you?'

'No,' replied a female, Scottish voice, 'I'm alone, all right.'

'Liz?' Lynda switched the lights on. A small, miserable, drunken creature recoiled from the light, underneath the desk. 'Sorry Liz, I was expecting somebody a couple of years younger, a couple of chromosomes male-er and a couple of inches taller.'

'He had to leave.' Liz indicated to the open window with a half empty bottle of strange, cloudy liquid. 'He was kissed by a Fish.'

'You kissed him?' Lynda walked over to the window and closed it. 'And he ran away?'

'He said he couldn't do it again,' replied Liz, unhappily, 'not with me, anyway.'

Lynda paused, Spike's tirade still echoing in her mind.

_There's you trying to set other people up all the time… What the Hell are you thinking?_

'I said I wouldn't get involved…' she told herself.

'What?' asked Liz.

Lynda shook her head. 'Nothing. Don't beat yourself up too much, Lizzie. Take it from me, you're better off without the hassle of a Boyfriend.'

Liz snorted a joyless laugh from beneath the desk. 'You know what, Lynda? I'm getting really bloody sick of hearing that sort of patronising crap from people who are lucky enough to actually have someone.'

'Goodnight, Liz,' replied Lynda, coldly.

'I mean,' continued Liz from the safety of the desk, 'do you have any idea how lucky you are with Spike? I have trouble connecting with people just like you do, but I thought maybe I had with him. I guess I was wrong. I don't get many chances, and I blew another one, but you are really tempting fate the way I just heard you talking to your one shot at happiness, Madam, because girls like us don't exactly have them beating down the doors, do we…?'

Lynda switched off the lights again, throwing the office keys towards the desk.

'Do me a favour and lock up after yourself once you've decided to stop rotting your liver, would you?'

There was nothing but a sad sniffing from the desk.

_I promised myself I wouldn't interfere. They're better off working it out for themselves… They have to be able to work it out for themselves, don't they? How hard can it be?_

_(How hard can it be? Look at yourself! You are the living proof of how hard it can be!)_

_Shut up._

Lynda closed the door. Even the DJ had packed up quickly and abandoned the party. It wasn't even midnight. She kicked her way through the broken glass and dropped cups and greasy paper plates. Office Parties. There's always a massive fight, and some random couple getting off their faces and snogging in a corner. Sarah had forgotten the crying, though. Some silly girl always ends up crying. She wiped away another tear as she let herself out into the December night.

'Merry Christmas to all,' she muttered, 'and to all a good night.'


	6. The Good Samaritan

The Good Samaritan

-x-

Four alarms went off, and four young people awoke to a slate grey, overcast midwinter morning. All four sat up, cold and alone in beds made for two people to share. All four remembered what had happened the night before.

All four said exactly the same word aloud, even though there was nobody else there to hear.

'Shit!'

-x-

Lynda was the first of the four of them in. Some of the other staff members were already there when she arrived, sarcastically keen to clear up the party debris before work began. She realised that a couple of the Christmas cards she had collected on her desk, yet unopened, had been removed from the pile, torn in two and thrown in the waste paper basket. One person had even gone to the trouble of shredding theirs, and had left the remnants in a pile on her chair. That was fine. She could face that.

Colin was next in, hurrying silently through the newsroom for the sanctuary of his office, carrying a kettle, a flagon of mineral water and a grocery bag stuffed with tea, coffee, milk, sugar and biscuits – the telltale sign that he was obviously planning to make a whole day of being 'bogged down with work,' otherwise known as 'hiding'. He shut the door to his office without a greeting to anybody, and Lynda knew that would be the last she'd see of him for at least that day. That was fine. She could live with that.

Liz shuffled in later, about ten minutes late, not that Lynda felt like berating her for it. The diminutive Scot was red-eyed and ashen faced, and Lynda knew that it wasn't entirely down to her hangover. Liz too sat down without uttering a word to a soul, ignoring Lynda. That was fine. She could cope with that.

Spike was even later. He was really, really late. Even for Spike. He finally showed up just after eleven, all smiles, all talk, as if nothing was wrong. That was not fine. She could not put up with that.

'Thompson!' She stood up, suddenly, just as he was sharing a hushed joke with Julie.

Spike smiled politely in response.

'What time do you call this?'

Spike checked his watch. 'Ten past eleven. Why? What time do you call it? Fifty minutes to Lunch?'

'I call it Incredibly Late,' seethed Lynda. 'You know we're up against the deadlines, and you've got that Christmas Depression report to do.

'Which is why,' Spike replied brightly, 'I've been down at The Samaritans since nine o'clock.'

Lynda blinked. 'But…'

Spike slapped his notepad with the back of his hand. 'Got some incredible stuff here, Boss. You wouldn't believe the amount of calls they get at this time of year. Seriously, they can't cope.'

'Well, Christmas can be tough on people, when they're lonely,' conceded Lynda. She deliberately turned away from Liz as she said it, only to find herself facing the closed door to Colin's office, instead.

'Uh-Huh,' added Spike. 'And they're so busy right now they're missing tens of calls a night. Calls that could help somebody turn themselves around. Which is why I won't be around in the evenings for the next couple of weeks.'

'Hmm?' Asked Lynda, distracted.

'I volunteered.'

'You volunteered?' Lynda echoed. 'You? A Samaritan? Captain Egotism? Are you sure?'

Spike shrugged. 'Could be worse. They could have you.'

Lynda rolled her eyes. 'Here it comes…'

'Here what comes?'

'The tirade.'

Spike raised his eyebrows, innocently. 'No tirade, boss.'

'Of course there's a tirade, Spike.' Lynda crossed her arms in irritation. 'How could Lynda ever give anyone Counselling? After all, she's such a selfish, unthinking, hurtful bitch… everybody knows that after last night now, don't they?'

'Everyone knew that long before last night, Lynda.' Spike was still being unnervingly good natured and calm. 'I've got no excuses, I know you well enough, and I should have known better. Don't worry, if you don't want us to live together I won't bring it up again.'

'But you're joining the Samaritans so that I won't be able to spend time with you. To punish me for last night.'

Spike flashed her a dark look, but continued to speak in a level tone. 'I'm joining the Samaritans because they need me.' He walked away from her, towards his desk. 'And I'd watch who you're calling Captain Egotism round here, Boss.'

Lynda struggled to keep a Poker Face, feeling the silent wave of victory as it passed around the newsroom. He'd taken revenge. He'd taken revenge for all of them, and everybody Bloody well knew it.

She tutted as she returned to her own desk. 'Childish.'

She looked up, and caught sight of Liz again. God Dammit, did that girl have to be so directly in her eyeline? The scarlet haired girl didn't seem to have noticed the lover's tiff at all. She was staring blankly at her computer screen, a little pale face drowning in the sea of tinsel and tat she had decorated her desk with.

Lynda sat, and shifted uncomfortably, and looked from unfriendly face to unfriendly face, trying to avoid the sad, gaudy girl and the closed office door.

_I'm not. I'm not getting involved._

_I'm definitely not._

Lynda managed to hold out until Liz went to lunch at noon. Then she scribbled a short, cryptic note onto a Post-It, and dropped it onto the Scottish girl's keyboard. Then she picked up her coat and handbag and went out for a long walk.

-x-

There was a tentative knock at the door. Colin looked up from his untouched spreadsheet at the sound.

'I'm busy,' he lied.

'So am I,' lied the girl at the other side of the door.

Colin sighed down at his desk. Just the person he'd been trying to avoid. Still, he gave her a big smile when she let herself into the office. He didn't really know what else to do.

'I got a note to see you,' she explained, waving the Post-It at him as validation.

'I…' he shrugged, helplessly, 'I didn't send you a note…'

'Liz,' read Liz from the note, 'this is important. Ask him why he left.' Liz passed the note over to him, unhappily. 'What do you reckon? Somebody in this office with a sick sense of humour, right?'

Colin blinked at the note, instantly recognising the handwriting. 'Yep,' he replied, screwing up the note, 'sick, warped and cruel.'

'So then…?'

Colin looked up at the young woman. She was still standing by his desk expectantly, her arms crossed.

'I'm sorry,' he repeated again. 'I said I was sorry. You know I'm sorry.'

Still she didn't move.

'Is it that…' Colin floundered. 'Did you want that forty quid I owe you?'

'I want you to tell me why.'

Colin paused, then shook his head, apologetically.

'It's OK, Colin.' Liz wasn't budging. There was something strangely aggressive about her stance. 'I'm no stranger to rejection. Tell me what it was. Tell me what it is about me that makes sweet guys run a mile every single bloody time.'

'Liz. It's not…'

'Please?' Liz jiggled on one foot, irritably. 'That note's got my interest piqued now. What am I doing wrong? I can take it.'

'It's not you, Liz. Believe me, it's…'

Liz rolled her eyes. 'The old "it's not you, it's me" line again? Bullshit. That's the oldest cliché in the shed. Tell me the truth.'

'I…'

Liz slapped her hand down on the desk, frustrated tears brightening her eyes. 'The truth!'

'I was terrified, OK?' Somehow, he was on his feet. Somehow, he had shouted those words at her. He had no idea how it had happened.

'So I'm scary?'

'No. No.' He lay a hand on his desk to steady himself, trying to put the shaking down to his hangover. 'The problem is that I like you too much, Fish. You're pretty and you're funny and I feel great when I'm around you. And I don't want you and me to end up like me and every other girl I've ever been interested in.'

'I don't understand.'

'I'll mess it up, Lizziefish. It happens every time things get even vaguely romantic between me and a girl.' He paused, his mouth dry. 'And it _is_ me that ruins it, no matter who the girl is. Blonde, Brunette, short, tall, stranger… old friend… it's always the same.'

Liz shook her head, confused.

'There was a time once,' continued Colin by way of explanation, 'that me and Julie Craig got on like a nightclub on fire.'

'Julie?' Liz pointed beyond the closed door to the newsroom beyond. 'That Julie?'

'That Julie,' nodded Colin. 'One evening – less than that – half an evening in my company in the vaguest romantic context imaginable and we've barely breathed a word to each other since. Known her since I was twelve.'

'…Which was a long time ago,' interjected Lizzie. 'People change. You two might have just found you had nothing in common any more, but I think that you and me do…'

Colin shook his head again. 'That won't work.'

'What?'

'Even girls who think they like me, Fish. Even girls who chase after me – as soon as I try to make it work, it falls apart, and I can't let that happen again.'

Liz raised an eyebrow. 'So, what you're saying is, you can't ask girls you like out because you'll horrify them, and you can't go out with girls who like you because you'll disappoint them…?'

'Yes,' sighed Colin, almost relieved that somebody had managed to put such uncontrollable, thrashing thoughts into such simple words. 'Yes, that's it.'

He caught a small smile creeping round the corners of her lips. It wasn't mocking, wasn't scornful. It was amused, and warm, and… and fond.

'That's quite a predicament you've got yourself in there, Sir,' she said. 'What on Earth are you going to do?'

He shrugged, sharing in her half smile. 'Give it all up, join the Priesthood?'

Liz burst into a sudden peal of laughter. He joined in, nervously, although he wasn't sure what was so funny.

'Oh dear,' said Liz, catching her breath, 'oh no. Now there's something that I simply can't allow to happen. Sir, you would make the. Worst. Priest. Ever.' She shook her head. 'Ever! You'd possibly bring down the entire Christian faith from the inside. Plus you're a really good kisser even when you're pissed on fermented turnip juice so, y'know, it would be a double tragedy.'

'Wha…?'

'When you said you liked me, Sir. Were you telling the truth?'

'Yes.' Colin scratched his head. 'I don't seem to be able to _stop_ telling you the truth, Fish. It's weird. I'm not used to it…'

'It's settled, then,' interrupted Liz. 'We'll carry this conversation on tomorrow night, if that's OK with you.'

'Tomorrow night?'

Liz shrugged. 'You did say you were busy today, Sir. I'd hate to distract you now.'

'Um…'

'Besides, I've got deadlines this afternoon.' Liz grinned at him. 'What's the matter? We've determined that I like you and you like me, and I'm curious to find out what these so called "Nightmare Dates" that put all the other girls off are like.'

'No you're not.'

'I'm a reporter, Sir. I'm always curious. Do you like curry?'

'Um…'

'I like curry. Book us a nice curry place, there's a Doll.' Liz stole a biscuit from his shopping bag as she let herself out. 'You can call for me at seven.'

She closed the door hard behind her as she whirled out, leaving him to blink, shell shocked, in the sudden silence.

What in the Hell had just happened? That girl had been in the sanctuary of his office for all of five minutes, and he'd somehow got all emotional, blurted out problems that he hadn't been able to admit even to himself for years and ended up with a date. How had he managed that? Had he had anything to do with that at all? He sat back down again, slowly. He hadn't done anything. It had all just happened to him. He'd been so malleable, like a Punter… like a hot lead… like…

A slow, sly smile crept over his face as he realised what had happened. It was like when you start speaking to a prospect, and they act like they don't want to buy, but you just know, deep down, that they really do. They just need to hear the right thing. They just need the right excuse to say Yes. That was what had happened.

He'd been Hustled.

-x-

Lynda came back from her walk to find a cup of hot tea on her desk. Not the vending machine stuff – real tea, with real milk and sugar. Just the way she liked it. In one of Colin's mugs. There was a Post It in her drawer when she opened it, too.

It said: 'thanks. know sort you're own love life owt.'

'How do you expect to write an anonymous note, Liz,' she muttered under her breath, 'when you insist on writing like a demented five year old?'

She cast a quick eye over the newsroom. Liz was merrily hassling a contact over the telephone. Colin was still at the other side of the room, but at least had come out of his office, and was going over leads with his sales reps. Spike was sat, typing his report quietly as Frazz and Sarah flicked rubber bands at each other over his head.

'You know what, Lizzie?' Lynda muttered to herself, 'I might well follow that suggestion.'

The Elastic Band Flicking Competition stopped suddenly the second she got up from her desk to walk over to Spike. She ignored it anyway, pretending to read the American's article over his shoulder.

'So they need all the help they can get, do they?'

'Right,' muttered Spike. 'I'm putting an appeal at the foot of the piece.'

'I'm going to volunteer as well.'

Spike scoffed, looking up over his shoulder at her. 'You? Are you kidding?'

'No.' Lynda stood back from his desk a little. 'It's hardly as though I've got anything better to do with my evenings these days.'

'Lynda, you can't just join The Samaritans to spend time with me…'

'I am a perfectly Good Samaritan, Spike Thompson!' Lynda folded her arms in defiance. 'My advice might seem a little harsh at times, but it's practical, and that's worth a Hell of a lot more than well intentioned platitudes.'

Spike turned his chair around to look up at his girlfriend. 'You really mean it, Lynda? You're really willing to give up your precious time to help other people?'

Lynda nodded, curtly.

Spike beamed. 'Excellent. I'd have really missed you otherwise.' With that, he turned around to his work again.

'I'm still not moving in with you, you know,' sniffed Lynda.

Spike concentrated on his article. 'You just keep on telling yourself that, Sugarpie,' he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Lynda didn't dignify his comment with a response. She went back to her desk, and got back to her work, and enjoyed the unfamiliar warm glow that she felt inside.


	7. The Same, Only Different 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

The Same, Only Different (1)

-x-

The Samaritans office somehow managed to be pokier, draughtier and worse equipped even than the old Junior Gazette office. It was clean, at least, and there were small floor heaters and plenty of hot drinks. Spike offered a supportive smile over to Lynda as they both settled down to their desks. Lynda appeared uncharacteristically nervous.

'So how did your training go last night?'

Lynda shrugged, self-consciously. 'No different than anyone else's, I expect. No worse than yours, I bet.'

'Uh-huh.' Spike nodded to himself.

Jeff, a plump and kindly middle-aged man in a cardigan shuffled up to Spike, laying a hand on his shoulder.

'Good evening, Lynda… James… erm, I mean "Spike"…' Jeff made inverted comma signs with his fingers as he awkwardly said the word "Spike", 'I was wondering whether you could do me a favour?'

Spike looked up at the man. 'Sure, "Jeff". What can I do you for?'

Jeff flushed a little, fiddling with his biro. 'Well, you did so very well at last night's training session, I just wondered if I could get Lynda to shadow you… just for a bit?'

Spike saw Lynda tense up with frustration and rage, and grinned widely.

'I think…' continued Jeff, 'that is, _we_ think that you just need a little longer to get the hang of it, Lynda. Is that OK?'

Lynda opened her mouth, her eyes glinting with malice for just the briefest moment. Spike could visibly see her fighting back the urge to be uncooperative and cruel. After a couple of seconds, she succeeded in biting her lip and casting her eyes down.

'Fine,' she mumbled.

Jeff beamed, relieved. 'Great. Marvellous. Well, I'll leave you two to it.'

Spike continued to smile at Lynda as Jeff wandered off.

'So. How many people did you reduce to tears last night?'

Lynda said nothing, but held three fingers up to him.

'Including the Instructor?' Asked Spike.

Lynda wrinkled her nose and raised a fourth finger.

'Oh, Lynda. What did I tell you?'

'It's not my fault,' muttered Lynda, 'my approach is just more practical than they like. I got frustrated. There's no point in coddling these people, as far as I see it.' She blinked up at him, scowling at his amused expression. 'Hey. They kept me on, didn't they?'

'I did tell you they were desperate, Lynda. Desperate enough even to keep somebody whose only advice to a person contemplating jumping off the tenth floor would be "think of the poor sod who'll have to clean up the mess".'

'Who told you I said that?'

The phone rang. Spike hurried to put his headset on. 'Just a hunch.'

-x-

It was half past six. The phone rang for the eleventh time in an hour. Spike just managed to connect the call before it rang off.

'The Samaritans.'

'Spike!' Exclaimed an all to familiar voice at the other end of the line, 'am I glad that's you!'

'Colin?' Spike rolled his eyes in irritation at Lynda. 'Colin, this is The Samaritans helpline. It's only for people who have serious problems and don't have anybody else to turn to, and it's very, very busy…'

'It _is_ a serious problem, Spike. And you're the only person I can talk to about it. Please don't hang up.'

Spike sighed. 'Fine. So what's this terrible problem?'

'Tie or cravat?'

Spike slapped his forehead. 'Colin. How is that a serious problem?'

'This is a very important night for me, Spike,' said the voice at the other end of the line, 'you know how I feel about Liz. It's not like with those other girls. I want tonight to go well. And… ties have the potential to get caught in things and cause accidents, but you said the cravats looked stupid.'

'The cravats _do_ look stupid.'

'And it's not like I can get away with a suit with just an open necked shirt, either,' blathered Colin, 'it's not the 80s any more…'

'It isn't?' Spike replied. 'Well, ya learn a new thing every day…'

'I need to know, Spike.' Colin paused. 'Put Lynda on.'

'Lynda's not allowed to use the phone yet,' said Spike, turning to the unimpressed Brunette, 'but I'll ask her. Hey Lynda. What should Colin wear around his neck tonight?'

Spike laughed silently at Lynda's mime.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone. 'She's saying "A Noose", isn't she?'

'Yep.'

'You're not taking my problem seriously at all, are you?'

'Colin,' explained Spike, 'the guy I spoke to just before you was so deeply in debt that he thought the only way out was to slit his wrists. The guy before that had pushed his entire family away through his alcoholism, and was trying to drown the pain with yet more booze every single day of his wretched life. The woman before that was being beaten regularly by her boyfriend, but felt she couldn't leave him because she was pregnant with his kid. I appreciate what it's like to be crazy about a girl, I appreciate that you're nervous about your date, considering how many of your previous ones have ended in disaster. But I think you need to see things with a little perspective here.'

There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

'It's not…' stammered Colin, eventually, 'it's not a Bow Tie sort of a restaurant, so that's out, too…'

Lynda snatched the headset from Spike's hair. 'Give him over.'

'Lynda…' Spike tried to grapple with his girlfriend for the headset, but it was obvious that if he didn't relinquish control, it was going to get broken. 'You're not trained to speak to callers yet!'

Lynda fitted the headset over her own head, ignoring Spike. 'Colin. Are you still there?'

'Lynda. Hi. Listen, should I wear the…'

'The Mafia Suit,' said Lynda, curtly. 'Wear a normal tie, just keep it away from zips and naked flames.'

'What Mafia Suit?' Asked Colin.

'The suit that makes you look like you're in the Mafia.'

'Oh. That one. Why that one?'

'Because it fits you. Plain socks, and make sure they match,' continued Lynda, 'ditto with shoes. Have you shaved yet?'

'Not since this morning.'

'Perfect. Keep it like that. Makes you look a bit more grown up. Remember, Lizzie's a couple of years older than you are, but that needn't be a problem.'

'Pants?'

'Definitely wear some. Clean ones, just in case. Be yourself, don't try too hard, try not to look like you're not trying too hard and don't spend all night worrying that something's going to go wrong. Don't insult, assault or set fire to her and you should be OK. Get it?'

'Got it.'

'Good.' She pressed down hard on the End Call button and handed the headset back to a dumbstruck Spike. 'See what I mean, Spike? Practical and effective.'

Spike put his headset back on. The phone rang again. He nodded slightly at Lynda.

'Do you want to get that?'

-x-

'Be yourself… don't try too hard… be yourself…'

Colin repeated the mantra to himself over and over again as he waited for Lizzie to answer the door. Then he remembered that he still hadn't actually rung the bell yet.

She only took a moment to open the door to him once he let her know he was there. She was a vision in primary colours, with a little blue silky dress and her best cherry red Doc Martens. Her bright red hair was down, and she'd done what he could only describe as 'Something Swooshy' with it. She looked beautiful, and she smelled of roses and spice.

'Sir.'

'Fish… you look…' he faltered for any adequate words '…nice…'

Lizzie beamed as she slung on her coat. 'Cheers. Scrub up OK for a mad wee midget, don't I?'

Colin laughed, nervously. 'You certainly do… oh…' he panicked at his faux pas. 'That is to say, you're looking great, not that you're a mad wee midget… I mean, you're a bit mad, which I think is just really sweet, but you're not a midget, I mean, technically I think you have to be about four feet tall or something to be a…'

'I'm 4'11",' Liz told him, simply.

'You are? Yes. You are.' Colin was starting to sweat. 'But you don't look it, I mean, look at me, I'm hardly the tallest… but that's not a problem, well, it's a problem if I need to get something off the top shelf…' he caught Lizzie's raised eyebrow. 'Not that I tend to buy things off the top shelf, that is, none of those magazines with the wrappers over and the… ladies with the… and even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to without standing on a crate or something…'

'My main problem is getting booted out of pubs,' added Liz. 'They never believe I'm over 18.' She stepped out into the street, looking him up and down. 'Hey! You wore your Mafia Suit, I like that one.'

Colin beamed with relief that the subject had been changed. 'I'm wearing clean pants, too.' His smile twisted into a grimace while he was still speaking.

Liz just nodded. 'Good. So am I. Just in case… Just in case I get knocked down by a bus.' She pointed at the waiting taxi cab. 'We going by Taxi?'

'Oh!' Colin had forgotten all about the taxi waiting for them, its meter running. 'Yes. I booked us in at that big new Indian, but it's a bit out of the way, a few miles out of town.'

He held the taxi door open for Lizzie.

'Well,' said the Scot, 'isn't this an adventure?'

Colin steeled himself before following his date into the cab.

'I really hope not,' he muttered to himself.

-x-

The Bombay Sapphire really lived up to its name. A huge, brand new building, all crazily angled glass and steel that was lit with a pale blue glow every evening. It shone dramatically on the Leisure Complex just off the ring road, dwarfing the fast food restaurants and the gym, even out dazzling the multiplex cinema. But there was little to no passing trade on the Leisure Complex. The cinema was the main draw, and that certainly couldn't supply The Bombay Sapphire with enough customers to keep it in business. So the Rashid brothers decided it would be an idea to start advertising. Which was how they had first had the dubious pleasure of meeting Colin Mathews. They would get together with other Curry House owners from time to time – their cousin, who ran the Raj, and old Mr Khan, who owned the bizarrely named The Spice Is Right – and share Horror Stories about the diminutive young Englishman. For all the trouble he caused them, though, since they had started advertising with him their profits had gone 20 over prediction, and were still rising. So, when the young lunatic had phoned in to reserve a table for two on a packed Saturday night in the Christmas Party Season, they had taken the trouble to make sure he got a good table, right up on the third floor. He hadn't tried to sell them anything useless, dangerous or illegal in over two months, too, so they put a flower and a couple of candles on the tablecloth.

His lady friend was a little odd, they noticed as they showed the young couple in. Very small and brightly coloured, like a little Christmas Ornament. She chattered away to him as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

'OK, I've got a game for tonight. We're only allowed to order food we can sing.'

'What do you mean?'

Lizzie cleared her throat and sang a little, quietly. 'Chicken Tikka, you and I know…'

They both giggled.

'Your go,' said Liz.

'Um… um…' Colin trailed off, blanking.

There was a brief moment of silent awkwardness.

Liz tried to break it. 'Or maybe we…'

'Poppadom preach!' interrupted Colin, victoriously, 'I'm in curry deep!'

Lizzie grinned at him. 'Korma korma korma korma korma chameleon…'

'Ra-ra-rojan josh,' added Colin, gleefully, 'lover of a Russian… um…' He fell quiet again as they reached their table, wracking his brain for a decent rhyme.

Lizzie seated herself before the waiter could help with her chair. 'Too bad, Sir. You could have had "loved a Russian bit of Posh".'

'Of course!' Colin helped Liz out with her abnormally long scarf before sitting down himself. 'You win then, I suppose.'

'So I get to choose the next game!'

The waiter leaned across the table between them and lit the candles. The bright haired girl was thrown into a strange light, shifting with shadows from the small flames. It was dark outside, so they could see their reflections in the black window. Shaded slightly blue by the lights of the restaurant, their faces a dark, flickering orange, either side of the little table. Something about it looked… Right. Like they were supposed to be sitting there together.

'I think,' said Liz, 'I think I'd like to play a Dating Game next.'

Colin pulled a panicked face. 'Nothing rude?'

'Don't worry,' grinned Liz. 'I know these guys are valued clients, I won't do anything that'll get us kicked out.' She sat back. 'It's simple rules. From now until the main course one of us tells the other all about ourself. Mains to coffee and mints, the other one speaks. We can have a quick Q&A over the bill to tie up any loose ends, and we both leave the restaurant richer, more knowledgeable human beings. What do you reckon?'

Colin bit his lip. 'You go first?'

'Fine.'

-x-

It was nearly nine. Spike picked up another call.

'Samaritans…'

'Spike. Help.'

Spike squeezed his eyes desperately. 'How did I know, Colin? How did I know that, after I had expressly told you not to call again, you'd still call again?'

'I need your help, Spike.'

'You're not listening to me, are you?'

'Spike, the curry's here!'

'Well,' sighed Spike, 'that's probably the kinda thing you can expect in a Curry House. What were you hoping for – lasagne?'

'You don't understand,' hissed the voice at the other end of the phone. 'The curry means she wants me to talk about myself!'

'So?'

'It's going really well, Spike! She's laughing a lot - With Me, not At Me – and she's really funny and interesting… she went backpacking around South America for three months, she's got two tattoos, she plays the drums, every two years she just drops everything and moves somewhere new…'

'So, you're worried about what she's going to think of you if you start telling her about your utterly warped and insane, and yet strangely dull little life?'

'Exactly.'

'Which is why,' grinned Spike, 'you've scurried away and are currently hiding in the men's bathroom.'

There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone. 'How did you know that?'

'Well, it was either that or the women's bathroom…' Spike stalled. 'You are sure that you're _not_ in the women's bathroom…?'

'Yes. I checked. There are urinals.'

'Colin. Have you ever contemplated that the main problem with your dating technique might actually be your ongoing dependency on Third Parties to help you out?'

'You don't need to make me out to be a complete and utter hapless coward, Spike…'

Spike grinned, despite himself.

'It's just…' continued the voice, 'it's just that I'm terrified, and don't know what to do here!'

'It's perfectly easy,' replied the voice. 'Are you listening?'

'Yep.'

'Switch the phone off, leave the toilets, sit down opposite her, eat your food, and tell her about yourself.'

'What? Just do exactly the thing she wanted me to do in the first place?'

'Trust me, Colin.' Spike snuck a sideways look at Lynda to make sure she wasn't listening. 'You can try to fight it, or you can try to run from it, but you're bound to find out sooner or later that doing what the lady says is the only way.'

'I thought you might have an idea to help me get out of this.'

'Colin, a pretty girl that you like is interested in you. Why'dya want out?'

'I'm going to screw it up!'

'OK,' sighed Spike, 'I'll help you.'

'Thanks!' The relief in Colin's voice was obvious.

'You know how I'm gonna help you?'

'How?'

'I'm gonna hang up on you.'

'What?'

'I'm gonna hang up, and then you're gonna go in there and talk to the damn girl, without any tips, or flashcards, or hidden microphones. And you're gonna be yourself, only much, much more charming than usual, and you are going to have a fantastic time. Are you ready?'

'What?' Panicked the other voice, 'no!'

'Good night, Colin.'

'Spike? Spi…'

Spike hung up. He didn't have time to feel guilty, or worry about the young man panicking in the restaurant. The phone had already started ringing again.

-x-

Liz looked up from the curry she'd been picking at when her date finally emerged from the toilets, looking troubled.

'You OK, Sir?'

'Hmm? Yeah. Fine.' Colin nervously took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

'Are you not well or something? You were in there for a while…'

She bit her lip. Commenting on your date's bowel movements wasn't exactly the most attractive topic for the dinner table.

Colin gave her a small smile. 'I'm fine. This is great, Fish. It's really…'

They reached for the water jug at the same time, and their hands brushed each other. Colin stood up again, so suddenly that he catapulted a spoonful of bright red tikka sauce over onto the tablecloth of the couple behind him.

'Sir?'

'Um… I think I need to go again.' He began to hurry away. 'I'll be back in a bit!'

Lizzie watched him go, then met the scowls of the couple scraping curry sauce off their tablecloth with a napkin. Liz shrugged and pointed at the couple behind her, drawing their annoyed glares away from herself and her date. She only managed to pick at her curry for another 30 seconds or so before her Reporter's Instinct got the better of her. She could see the aerial of the mobile phone sticking out of his jacket pocket. He'd had it in the toilet with him the first time. There was definitely something wrong with him, and if he wasn't sick, it could well have been something to do with that telephone. Maybe a bit of bad news, maybe…

She leaned around the table and quickly pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket. Trying to conceal it under her arm, she stood up and looked around for somewhere she wouldn't be spotted using it. She scurried out through a sliding glass door onto a small balcony overlooking the leisure complex. She stared at the phone in the darkness. She had never had to use one before. Annoyingly, she couldn't even really remember how Colin had used it in front of her. There was a redial button, though. That was handy. She pressed Redial and listened to the rings. It was picked up by a quiet, older sounding man.

'Hello, Samaritans?'

'Oh! Erm…'

The Samaritans? He'd been calling the Samaritans? Liz knew that her date wasn't himself tonight, but she had no idea it was that bad. She should have known! She should have worked out how bad it was! The more she thought about his ups and downs, and the way his behaviour prior to her joining UpStart had been described by those that had known him since childhood, the more it sounded like some kind of Manic Depression. No wonder he was scared of getting close to her, a psychology student! And she'd tried to pressurise him into talking all about himself tonight. Stupid Lizzie!

'Oh God…'

'Are you all right?' Samaritans Man asked, full of concern. 'Is there a problem you want to talk about?'

'Oh, shit…'

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Colin, back at the table, looking around for her. He Clocked her on the balcony and started walking towards the glass doors.

'Shit!'

If he caught her with the phone… it wasn't just that he'd know she'd been prying. He'd know that she knew, and that would probably be the end of it. He'd probably push her away when he needed her the most, instead of dealing with his problems. She wouldn't be able to help him and she'd be alone again. There was only one thing to do. She hurled the phone from view, and let it fall to the car park far below.

-x-

'Oh my Good Gracious…'

Spike and Lynda both turned to see Jeff, ashen faced and trembling.

'Oh no. Oh dear. Oh dear me.'

'You OK, Jeff?'

Jeff gasped, removing his headset with shaking hands. 'I think… I think I was too late.'

Lynda and Spike exchanged worried glances. 'What?'

'She wouldn't talk…' managed Jeff. 'The girl. She was on a mobile. She… she just jumped.'


	8. The Same, Only Different 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

The Same, Only Different (2)

-x-

'Fish?'

Lizzie span round to face her date with a wide, guilty grin.

'What are you doing out here?' Colin hugged himself for warmth on the freezing balcony.

'Just admiring the, er…' Liz gestured out to the view beyond. 'The car park.'

Colin raised an eyebrow at her. 'You were smoking again, weren't you?'

Liz sighed, and dipped her head in fake embarrassment. 'Knew I'd get caught out.'

'You're your own person,' shrugged Colin, 'smoking's not the worst substance abuse I've seen, believe me. If you don't want to quit…'

'I do want to quit. That was my last fag, I'm not going to smoke any more.'

'Good,' grinned Colin. 'It stunts your growth.'

Lizzie shivered. 'Let's get inside, eh? It's warm and there's curry and it's your turn to talk.'

'Oh yes.' Colin held the door open for Liz and followed her through to their table. 'That.'

'Yes, "that".' Liz sat herself down, oblivious to the fact that the couples on the tables on either side of theirs were now glowering at one another, frostily. 'Come on, I want to hear all about these dates from Hell – pet deaths and psycho boyfriends included.'

Colin sat down himself, frowning. 'Who have you been talking to…?'

'And,' Liz added, 'I've been hearing rather a lot of idle chit-chat about a certain pink rabbit suit…?'

Colin's expression froze.

'Too far?' asked Liz, 'I'm sorry, I don't know the story… was it really that bad…?'

Colin wasn't reacting to her, though. He was frantically patting the pockets of his jacket.

'Where's my phone? I've lost my phone!'

'Have you thought where you left it last?' attempted Liz.

'In my pocket! In my jacket pocket!' Colin was panicking. 'Somebody's nicked it, haven't they? While you were having a smoke somebody's bloody well nicked it!'

Unnoticed by both of them, the two couples on either side of their table threw each other accusatory glances.

'You don't know that for sure…'

'Well, what else could have happened to it, Fish?'

'Would you calm down, Sir? It's only a Thing.'

'But it's one of _my_ Things! It cost a lot of money.'

'Who cares about money?'

'Everybody, Liz. Everybody cares about money in some shape or form, just most people don't want to admit it.' Colin tried looking under the table for the missing gadget.

'But it's not the Be All And End All.'

'It is to me.'

'Why?'

'Becauseit'sjustabouttheonlythinginmystupidlifeI'vegotanykindofcontrolover!'

Liz snapped a popadom with such force that a shard of it ended up in the hair of the woman behind her. There was a long pause.

'Holy Mackerel…' said a little, shaking voice from beneath the table. 'Where did _that_ come from?'

There was another long pause.

'Sir?' asked Liz, eventually, 'do you want to talk?'

'No… Yes. I don't know…'

'Do you want to come up from under the table?'

'Not really.'

'Fine then.' Liz slipped herself out of her chair to the carpet beneath the table. 'I'll come down to your level.'

She folded her legs neatly to fit both herself and her date underneath the table.

Colin gave her a small, embarrassed smile. 'You don't give up, do you?'

'Not when I set my mind to something, no.'

'Must be why I like you…' his smile grew, and then faded. 'So, you want the Scoop on me, right? You want my Story?'

'I want to help you, Sir. I think you're hurt, and I think you feel it would help if you talked to somebody about it, instead of bottling it all up. And I think I'm the right person to tell all that stuff to. Not just because of what I studied, but because I want to listen, and I want to understand, and eventually I want to abuse your trust in me by taking you to bed.' She beamed, sweetly.

Colin choked a little. 'That's a little… um…'

'Brash? Aggressive? Well, that's just my style, I'm afraid. I'm also incredibly charming, if that helps.'

'I had noticed.' Colin looked up at the bottom of the table. 'And, I see we're sitting hunched under a table again.'

Liz leaned into him. 'Last time it was a desk. This time it's a restaurant table. It's completely different.'

'Sure.'

'I'm still going to kiss you again, though.'

Colin paused, thoughtfully. 'OK.'

'Eurgh! What is all this?'

The shriek from the table next to them completely ruined the moment.

'What's all this stuff in my hair?' continued the female voice above them, accusatorially. 'Hey! You!'

Liz shrunk down further still, automatically.

'You've been giving me Dog Eyes all night,' added the voice, 'did you throw food at me? What are you playing at?'

'How dare you!' replied a second female voice, indignantly, 'you started this. You scared that other nice young couple away, look.'

'What are you talking about?' demanded the first voice.

There was a scrape of a chair as the second woman got to her feet. 'You were throwing food earlier! And then you have the cheek to…'

'I never did!' exclaimed the first woman. 'Cyril! Do something!'

There was the sound of the other three diners rising from their chairs, and only time for one of the men to say 'listen now…' before the full blown fight started up right next to Colin and Liz's table.

'Oh God,' muttered Colin as he ducked down towards the centre of the table, 'here we go. I knew something like this was going to happen.'

Liz winced as something large smashed over their heads. 'Could be worse. I mean, it's not like the Police have started turning up in riot gear…'

That was, of course, the moment when the squad car sirens began to wail towards the restaurant. Liz slapped her forehead.

'Why can't I ever learn to shut up, eh?'

She looked across at Colin, and was surprised to see he was smiling.

'I'm glad you did that,' he said.

'Why?'

'Because otherwise it would have been me.'

They waited as more voices joined in the screaming fight above them and the Police sirens continued their inevitable journey to the restaurant entrance, where they stopped.

'We should get out while we can,' muttered Liz. Colin was already removing his jacket from the back of his chair.

-x-

Together they slipped from under the table and escaped in the melee of flying fists and Sag Aloo. Running down the three flights of stairs Colin was surprised to see that Liz was laughing. They only paused by Jay Rashid to press a handful of notes into his palm as payment for the meal as he attempted to hold back the policemen at the door.

'…a small disturbance on the top floor, but that is all. Hardly a police matter.'

'I'm afraid,' one of the larger policemen replied, 'that it happens to be a very serious matter in fact, Mr Rashid. We've been alerted by The Samaritans that a young lady has thrown herself from a balcony of your restaurant.'

Liz tugged at Colin's sleeve. 'Let's go, Sir.'

'Ridiculous!' Exclaimed Mr Rashid, 'nothing of the sort has ever happened at…'

Liz tugged harder at Colin's arm, dragging him out of the door as the large policeman continued to speak tetchily.

'The caller from The Samaritans was most insistent, Sir. Apparently the lady in question must have been calling from an Indian restaurant from the music in the background, and this is the only one in the area with more than one level accessible to diners. If you wouldn't mind, Sir, we'd like to…'

The policeman's voice petered out as the door closed behind them.

Colin shook his head at the pavement. 'What a night.'

'We never even got the main course,' added Liz, hugging her arms in the cold and watching another squad car pull up. 'We should go, I suppose.'

Colin reached into his jacket pocket. 'I'll call a cab… bugger.'

Liz winced. 'No phone.' They both bit their lip. 'We could see if there's one in the restaurant…' A window smashed above them. 'Or we could always walk.'

'It's five miles at least.'

Liz shrugged. 'The night is young. What's the rush?'

She began to walk. Colin followed her, worriedly.

'Besides,' added Liz, 'you owe me one life story.'

Colin caught up with her. 'And here's me without a table to hide under.'

'There's a first time for everything,' grinned Lizzie. She linked arms with him.

He froze.

'What?' Lizzie turned to him. 'What is it?'

Colin jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. 'Home's that way.'

'Brilliant.' As one, they turned face and began retracing their steps.

'I'm freezing.'

'That's hardly your life story.'

'I know, Fish. I'm just saying.'

'So am I. And I'm still starving hungry.'

'There's a chip shop on the way.'

'Fantastic! A bag of chips and a spam fritter, that's the way to any Glaswegian's heart.'

'Well, that's something at least.'

'And at least it's not raining.'

A few heavy spots of cold water began to land on them as they walked.

'I just did it again, didn't I Sir?'

'You certainly did, Fishcakes.'

-x-

It was just after Midnight when Spike and Lynda got out of the Samaritans office. They walked through orange-lit suburban streets together and chatted happily about their excitement that evening.

'Relieved, Boss?'

'Not half as relieved as Jeff was,' grinned Lynda. 'If we hadn't worked out that girl had called from the Bombay Sapphire he'd still think she'd really jumped instead of just dropping her phone.'

'Bombay Sapphire…' considered Spike out loud, 'isn't that where Colin and Lizzie went tonight?'

Lynda frowned a little. 'Don't think so. Did he ever call again?'

'Nope,' replied Spike. 'I'm not too sure whether that's a good sign or not, though.'

A voice piped up from behind both their shoulders. 'Who are we talking about?'

They both yelped and span around on their heels. Colin was directly behind them both, utterly bedraggled and holding a packet of chips. He offered it out to them.

'Chip?'

Spike took one.

'They're a bit cold,' he added as Spike dropped his chip on the pavement in distaste. 'You would not believe some of the things you can get deep-fried in Scotland… how was your charity thing?'

'Fun,' replied Lynda, picking a soggy twig out of Colin's collar, 'in an Old School sort of way.'

'We solved a mystery,' added Spike, proudly.

'Great,' nodded Colin, eating another cold chip.

There was a slight, awkward pause. Normally when somebody asks how your evening has been, it's considered polite to ask them the same question. But it was midnight, and Colin was alone, soaked through, and eating a cold bag of chips. As signs of the success of a young man's date go, his weren't great.

'You?' asked Lynda, dreading the answer.

'Pretty Old School again.' Colin nodded thoughtfully to himself. 'I think,' he added, 'that tonight was _probably_ the most disastrous date I've ever been on…'

'Oh Colin…'

'Lynda,' Colin replied, gravely, 'she _liked it!_ She stayed! We're doing it again next week.'

'You're kidding.'

'No joke.' Colin's tone was just as surprised as Lynda's. 'She said she hadn't had so much fun in years.'

'Well whaddaya know?' Spike shared a sly smile with his girlfriend. 'After all this time you finally got to the end of a first date.'

'I know. I wasn't entirely sure what to do at the end, but there was kissing and rain, like in the movies, so I think it was all right.' Colin paused, pondering. 'She seemed a little annoyed that I didn't want to come in for a coffee…'

Spike and Lynda blinked in unison.

'But I've tasted her coffee before,' continued Colin, 'I would have been up all night.'

Spike and Lynda both blinked again. Lynda heard the American next to her stifle a laugh.

'Quite,' she managed. 'Well… well done.'

'Cheers.' Colin threw the rest of his chips in a bin and began to cross the road towards his house. 'Well done on your mystery.'

Spike put his arm around Lynda. 'Just another Christmas Miracle.'

'Spike, he's _whistling_.' They shared a smile, their breaths, visibly orange in the cold night air, mingling into the same little cloud between them. 'Remember when _we_ used to whistle?'

'Ah, the heady insanity of it all,' replied Spike. 'Young love, huh?'

'Young love.'


	9. The Best Fireworks 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

THE BEST FIREWORKS THIS SIDE OF BROMLEY (1)

-x-

He drummed his fingers and glanced up at the clock. Somehow, it was still only half past 9.

-x-

'If you'll all settle down, we need a… is anybody listening to me?'

There was a loud clatter as a Jenga tower was knocked over.

'What did you do that for…?'

Lynda picked up a Jenga brick. 'This isn't school, Tiddler. Just because it's a half day it doesn't mean you can bring your Christmas toys in to play with.'

Tiddler smiled back, sweetly. 'What about cartoons?'

'Why bother with Beavis and Butthead when you can sit in the office and watch the real deal?' Lynda threw the brick, narrowly missing both Spike and Frazz as they chatted.

'Hey! We were talking!'

'So was I.' Lynda arched an eyebrow and continued her address. 'As I was saying, we need a photojournalist to cover the town square tonight.'

-x-

He drummed his fingers and glanced up at the clock. Somehow, it was still only half past 9.

-x-

'Tonight?' replied Spike over the groans going up throughout the rest of the office, 'you mean tonight as in New Year's Eve?'

'No, I mean tonight as is the 12th of April 1782. Of course I mean New Year's Eve, you stupid bloody foreigner! Norbridge City Council is promising a free festival of Folk Music until one in the morning in the Town Square to celebrate, coupled with what's being billed as The Best Fireworks Display This Side Of Bromley, and I want it covered.'

'But it's New Year's Eve,' insisted Spike, 'has it occurred to you at all that people might have Plans?'

Lynda folded her arms. 'Oh I'm sure not _everyone_ has something planned for tonight…' She looked deliberately at Sarah.

'I'm going to Birmingham with friends from Uni,' scowled Sarah, 'That's why I've got to leave early today. You know that!'

'You can always…'

'I've already booked the train tickets, Lynda. I am _not_ staying!'

Lynda sighed in defeat. 'Julie, then.'

'Beano's parents are throwing a big party.' Julie beamed. 'I want to impress them – I think he might be The One.'

'Julie, you're going out with a Comic Book, I give it a week.'

'_Lynda! _I'll have you know he's a very thoughtful, intelligent young man. He's got an NVQ!'

'All right then, two weeks,' Lynda conceded. 'Tiddler?'

'Girlie Sleepover.'

'Yeah, right – good luck getting into Roxy's with those fake IDs. Billy?'

'Riverdance marathon.'

Lynda rolled her eyes. 'It's the lowest form of wit, Billy.'

Billy just smirked.

'Frazz?'

Frazz looked up, guiltily. 'I'm out. Erm… private party. With some mates. Other mates.'

'Oh yes, your "party". Well, see if you can't at least smuggle a hidden camera in or something, would you? Some photos of an illegal rave will probably come in very handy.'

'It's _supposed_ to be secret,' hissed Frazz. 'And besides, it's not Illegal. Not technically, anyway…'

'_Somebody_ has to have no particular plans for tonight,' sighed Lynda, 'Free music? Free fireworks…?'

'The best this side of Bromley!" added Spike, cheerfully.

'Come on, guys, the news doesn't just happen 9 to 5 you know…'

'Isn't Lizzie back this afternoon?' Grinned Tiddler, evilly. 'She might be free tonight.'

-x-

He looked up instinctively at the sound of her name.

-x-

'Tiddler, don't be cruel. She's been in Scotland for a week, let's give her tonight to get reacquainted to the bright lights and bustle of Norbridge, eh?'

Lynda gave Colin a small nod, but he barely registered her. Christ, one successful date and a week of enforced Cold Turkey and he was climbing the walls already.

-x-

He drummed his fingers and glanced up the clock. Twenty to ten. Jesus!

-x-

Lynda returned her attention to the Newsroom.

'Well at this rate it looks like I'll have to do it myself…'

'No you can't, Boss.'

Lynda frowned at Spike. 'What do you mean, "can't"?'

'We've both got our night job tonight.'

Lynda sighed, exasperated. 'Bloody Samaritans!'

'Tonight's one of their busiest nights,' Spike reminded her. 'C'mon, it's a Folk Festival, all beards and corn cob pipes. There won't be any young people there.'

'There _will_ be young people there, Spike. There'll be a reporter from UpStart there for a start.'

'Lynda…'

'I don't care who does it,' she announced sharply, 'just as long as the report's on my desk on the 2nd. Otherwise I can assure you, there will be Hell to pay. Now, since the office will be closed this afternoon and tomorrow and we still have a paper to publish, I suggest that you all get back to work.'

That said, Lynda sat back down, irritably.

'Why does _he_ have to undermine me every single bloody time I try to do my job?' she muttered half to herself, half to her Assistant Editor.

'Somebody has to,' Julie replied to an unresponsive Lynda, 'and since he seems to enjoy it more than I do…'

-x-

He drummed his fingers and glanced up at the clock. Quarter to ten. It was going to be a long day.

-x-

It was two o'clock. Sarah had been the first out, at a quarter to noon, silently cursing and scattering pens as she rushed to get her work finished and get her coat on, running out with her bag a good quarter hour after she'd intended to leave. Other staff members had filtered out slowly, wishing those remaining a happy new year. Julie had recently left, leaving just the usual three alone in the office, as normal. Lynda was just seeing the Receptionist out and locking up when there was a rapping at the door. Lynda blinked at the figure in the smoked glass and opened up again.

'You're a bit late,'

The girl frowned in confusion. 'But I'm _early_.'

Spike was embroiled in a difficult sounding telephone conversation when Lynda returned to the newsroom.

'And you. Yeah. And you, too. Yeah. Yeah… Well, it's not New Years for us yet, so we're kinda still at… uh-huh. How much have you had to drink?'

'Colin.'

Colin looked up from his graph paper, on which he had apparently been spending the last few hours drawing a series of concentric circles.

'There's a midget in a kilt here to see you.'

'It's not a kilt, it's a tartan skirt.' Liz waved from the door.

'Lizziefish!' Colin leapt to his feet, but then stalled at his desk, as though unsure of what to do next in this situation. 'You're five hours early.'

'Yeah,' she grinned, 'I got the train from my Mum's yesterday in the end, spent last night with some mates in Leicester. Thought it'd be nice to surprise you. Surprise!'

'It is…' spluttered Colin. 'Nice. And surprising. Um…'

'Of course I like you too,' continued Spike down the telephone, 'very much. Yeah, we're great friends…. Well, I wouldn't go that far, but…'

'Maybe we should continue this moving reunion outside,' said Lizzie. 'If our Noble Leader has no objections…?'

Lynda perched on her desk, seriously. 'Get your coat, Colin, you've pulled.'

She watched Colin quickly leave with the brightly coloured Scot as Spike continued to struggle on the phone.

'Sure, we've had great times together, and I do really like you, but I wouldn't…'

'Who _is_ that, Spike?'

Spike lay a hand over the receiver. 'Remember all those times you used to call Kenny when he was trying to sleep and I told you what goes around always comes around?'

'No. Why?'

'It just Came Around.' Spike listened to the handset and addressed the receiver again. 'Yeah, that's her. Oh, you do? OK, then.' He held out the phone to Lynda with a grin. 'It's for you.'

Lynda put the phone to her ear, suspiciously. 'Hello?'

'HAPPY NEW YEAR!' screamed a familiar voice, made unfamiliarly loud and wobbly by an apparent overdose of alcohol. Several female voices cheered in the background.

'Kenny?'

Spike was already putting on his jacket. 'Never could take his booze. Well, see you at work, Boss.'

'Lynda! It's Lynda! She's my best friend!' The girls in the background cheered again.

'Spike,' hissed Lynda, 'I wanted to talk to you about… come back!'

Spike sauntered out, ignoring her.

'Listen, Kenny, I'm going to have to…'

'Don't go,' slurred the voice, 'don't you go now, Lynda. I miss you, Lynda. Don't you miss me? I miss you.'

Lynda sighed. 'Of course I do. Otherwise I'd have hung up on you by now.'

'Ohhhh, you're a good friend, Lynda. You're my best friend. You know that? You're my best friend.'

Lynda glumly sat herself down for a long, drunken phone call and cursed the Samaritans brainwashing that kept her from hanging up.

'I've been thicking… thick... _think_ing I might come over this summer, you know.'

'Yes, Kenny.'

'Because I miss you. Don't you miss me? I miss you…'

'Who are those girls with you, Kenny?'

'You're my best friend, Lynda. My very best friend.'

'Yes, Kenny.'

-x-

There was little point in hiding around the corner to kiss while Spike whistled merrily down the street. The fact that they were a kind-of-a-sort-of-an-item was hardly a secret. They hid anyway. It was fun. Lizzie finally pulled away to smile at him.

'I've been desperate for that all week.'

'Well, I hope you crossed your… um… lips…' Colin trailed off, pondering over his own mixed metaphor.

'I've been a Saint, Sir.' Liz leaned back against the bins. 'So, how was your Christmas?'

Colin shrugged. 'Hassle from my Uncles, verbal abuse from my Sister, long, icy silences from my Mum… I've had worse. You?'

'Oh, the usual lunatic dash around the country.' She stifled a yawn. 'Tell you what, I'm bloody knackered. I hope you didn't book anything for tonight, I'm up for a quiet night in.'

'Oh.' Colin frowned, disappointed. 'I'd hoped I'd get to see you…'

'I _meant_ with you, yer wee nutter. Just you, me, a bottle of bourbon and Clive James. How about it?'

'Clive James…?'

'He's one of those magical people that lives in your tellybox.' She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him on the forehead. 'I'm going to unpack and have a bath. I'll swing round about 7.30.'

He watched her go. ''Kay.'

'Don't bother about cooking anything special,' she shouted over her shoulder. 'I'll just have whatever you were having.'

'Cooking…' he muttered as she turned the corner. 'Cooking. Wait, I can't… how do I…' He darted a panicked glance up the road. Halfway before his turning, Spike had visibly increased his pace. He had obviously heard Lizzie's use of the 'C' Word and was trying to make as hasty a departure as possible before Colin remembered…

Colin remembered that Spike could cook.

'Spike!' He began to sprint towards the American, who himself broke into a run while stuffing his fingers into his ears. 'Spike, you've got to help!'

A passing old lady watched in fascination as a short, local sounding lad in a baggy suit chased a young American chap up the road at full pelt. She wasn't sure which was stranger – the American singing 'Build me up Buttercup' at the top of his voice with his fingers in both ears or the Englishman screaming that all he wanted was one lousy recipe for Egg Foo Yung. Either way, Gladys Newbold promised herself there and then that she'd never drink another Harvey's Bristol Cream at lunchtime ever again, Festive Season or not.


	10. The Best Fireworks 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

THE BEST FIREWORKS THIS SIDE OF BROMLEY (2)

-x-

'I mean, why, Spike? Why undermine me every single time I try to establish any kind of control over my own damn staff?'

Spike considered hanging up his jacket, but even with the blow heaters on full blast it was still freezing in the Samaritans office. He decided to keep it on instead.

'All I did was disagree with you, Lynda.'

'Exactly. Disagreeing. Loudly, and with intent to cause further disagreement.'

'Not scared of a little rational debate, are ya?'

Lynda sat in her chair, torturing her headset. 'Who's scared? I simply won't stand for it, that's all. Not on My Time.'

'Remind me again why you volunteered for this, again, Lynda. Because I'm starting to suspect it was just to get more time to yell at me.'

'Nonsense. I did it out of the goodness of my heart.'

'You don't _have_ a heart.'

'Got yours, haven't I?'

Spike shot her a glance. There was that bitten down little smile at the corners of her lips again, laughing at him and with him all at the same time. Dammit!

'God, I wish you wouldn't do that.' He forced down a smile of his own. 'Now I can't be mad at you any more.'

Lynda's smile disappeared. '_You,_ mad at _me_? What right do you have to be mad at…'

'Evening, all.' Jeff interrupted as he settled at his desk, a hot cup of tea nestled in both hands.

Spike leaned over to him. 'Hey, Jeff – isn't it a little quiet here? I thought tonight was supposed to be busy – the phone hasn't rung once.'

Jeff sipped his tea. 'Enjoy it while it lasts, folks. It'll pick up, believe you me.'

They all looked at their silent telephones.

-x-

Liz rushed into Colin's kitchen before he could say a word.

'I _thought_ I recognised that smell!' She rummaged happily through the white plastic bag on the table. 'You got Chinese Take-Out…' she pulled back the lid of one of the little cartons and breathed in deep. 'Golden Palace?'

Colin shook his head. 'Jade Garden.'

Liz tutted. 'So close. Give me another couple of months in Norbridge, I'll be able to tell one from the other by the prawn crackers alone. Did you get beef chow mein?'

'I wasn't going to forget your blessed chow mein, Fish.' He positioned himself tactfully between Liz and the pans of inedible gunk still on the worksurface.

Unfortunately, Lizzie's brain was trained to notice when somebody was trying to hide evidence.

'What's that?' she asked, trying to peer around him.

'Nothing.' He caught her arm and tried to direct her away from the debris. 'Let's eat, shall we…?'

Liz ducked underneath his arm to survey the pans. 'Spaghetti Carbonara.' She poked at a half full egg carton. '_Spike's_ Spaghetti Carbonara.'

'No…'

'Three eggs for two people? Fresh Parsley?' Liz held up the supporting evidence of empty eggshells and parley stalks. 'That's Spike's recipe – he knocked it up at the last late Newsteam meeting. Gave me the recipe. Sir, I've cooked this for myself twice in the past fortnight.'

'No you haven't,' attempted Colin, clearly trying the surrealist route.

'Yes I have,' laughed Liz, 'I taught it to my wee nephew back home, it was that easy…' She trailed off as the all the bits slotted into place. He'd asked Spike for help. Spike could cook, and Spike found it easy to date girls, which was probably why he'd gone for such a challenging long term girlfriend. So Spike was the person he turned to for help with girls. And she was a girl. And where was it that Spike worked in the evenings? And who was it that Colin had phoned on that first date…?

Stupid, stupid Lizzie.

'You cooked,' she managed to say.

'I tried.'

Lizzie nodded, stoically.

'Your chow mein'll be going cold.'

-x-

It was nine o'clock. They watched the phones. Somebody coughed. Spike whistled a little. Lynda pushed a crossword away from herself, completed, then thought for a second, found a piece of paper and started to make her own.

'It'll pick up,' said Jeff, yet again. 'Just you wait. It'll pick up.'

-x-

The thing about being Colin – one of the _many_ things about being Colin is that long midwinter nights were far from synonymous with cosy domesticity. They were gaudily lit and delightfully frozen, nicely removed from reality – a time when people threw their money around, the perfect time for him to loiter and catch some of the cash that flew from one person to the other. He couldn't say that he particularly understood it, though. The Mathews Family's seasonal events were always so big and sprawling that he'd usually end up spending most of the party cornered by an uncle asking why he never had time to help out in one of the family businesses these days, or a batty Great Aunt who would keep calling him Keith. His sister would mutter a few words and accept a present from him before sneaking off to meet her friends, his mother was capable of spending the entire party in a different room to him. Barely tolerated get-togethers like that were his 'family Christmas' these days. The rest of the time he'd be out, working, turning Festive Cheer into a tidy profit and turning his face to the multicoloured neon lights to chase away the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost who always came in drunk and incoherent and black, black, black with rage.

But this was so different. He couldn't imagine tiring of this. Just a sofa, and a TV set, and empty Chinese cartons, and a girl with the fakest hair and the most genuine smile curled up next to him, sipping bourbon and giggling.

'Back home,' Liz said, 'we had this sort-of tradition of staying up all night on New Year's Eve. Then we'd all go out at dawn to greet the new sunrise and freeze our tits off. We could do that tonight.'

'I thought you said you were tired.'

She grinned. 'Too tired to want to go to the bother of going home tonight, anyway.'

Curled up next to him, so warm and soft – he didn't want her to leave either. 'Why don't you stay over tonight?'

She looked at him for a moment, then kissed him. Really, _really_ kissed him. Pushed him down on the settee and got on top of him, straddling his stomach.

_Hang on…_

She pulled out of the kiss, momentarily. 'I am so glad you said that, let me tell you.' She kissed him again, on the side of the neck. 'I'm not used to having to wait like this. I mean, I can appreciate you not being a First Date kind of guy, although most guys are, you mark my words. Only…' She pushed herself down a little, so that her crotch was pressed on top of his, and began to tug his shirt from under his waistband.

_Hang on!_

'Only I've been doing my bloody nut all week, you know that? You've been driving me absolutely mental.'

'I get that a lot.'

She smiled a strange, sly smile. 'Do you, now?' She leaned over him to kiss him again, her left hand slipping under his shirt and onto his belly.

_Hang on… she doesn't want me to… she isn't expecting me to…_

Her fingers found the round, puckered scar tissue of the gunshot wound in his side.

'Hang on…' he squeaked.

She sat back up again. 'It's OK.' She pushed his shirt up to look at the scar. 'That's where you were shot, isn't it? It's OK. I like it. Very macho.'

'It's not that…' started Colin. He pushed himself up from beneath her, off the sofa. 'I think we should… I'll walk you home.'

'You're… you're joking, right?' Liz folded her arms. 'Is it me?'

Colin pushed his hand up through his hair. 'No, Fish. It's not you.'

'Well it certainly feels like it's me, Colin. Do you realise that I'm the one who's made every move here? Made every extra effort? Done all the chasing, all the persuading? And you've been petrified at every single bloody step! How attractive do you think that makes me feel?'

'Of course you're attractive, Liz. You're… you're lovely. And you're lovely inside too. I think you're the loveliest girl I know…'

'Then when are you going to stop wittering and put out?'

Colin couldn't answer that. He just opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

Liz softened, ever so slightly. 'Told you I could be brash. But I'm 22, Colin, I've been having sex since I was 15, and it's been a while since I've been this nutty about someone. I did warn you that my motives were less than pure.'

'So that's it? That's all you're after?'

'Don't be daft.' She hugged her knees. 'Do you think I'd have tried so hard if that was all? Picking up a one night stand, well that's easy. But I'm sick of that. I want a proper boyfriend, with sex and kisses and boring nights in front of the telly with a take out…'

He sat down next to her.

_Boyfriend? I've never been a boyfriend._

'I didn't say that right,' Liz continued. 'I don't just want any old boyfriend for the sake of it. That's not it. It's you. I want to do all those things with you. That's what I mean.'

'Boyfriend?' It sounded weird, saying it.

She met eyes with him. 'Is that OK with you?'

'God, yes.' He hadn't meant that to come out sounding so grateful.

'Hooray,' she said, softly, and kissed him again.

'There's something I haven't told you…' he muttered.

She pulled away, and gazed at him, worriedly.

He breathed deeply, looking down at his hands.

'What is it? Jesus, you're not dying or something, are you?'

He bit his lip, summoning his courage. It was a weakness that he really didn't want to admit to – that he'd never admit to anyone else – not even Lynda, not that she'd ever asked.

'Lizziefish, I'm… I'm…'

'What? You're infected with leprosy? You're secretly married to a 90 year old millionaire's widow? You're actually a really butch Lesbian?'

'I'm…'

'Oh Christ. You're Gay, aren't you?'

'No. I'm… still a…'

'Still a virgin?' completed Liz, giving a huge sigh of relief when he nodded in embarrassment. 'Oh, I guessed that ages ago. Don't worry. I'll be gentle.'

'But I'm 20. That's weird.'

'John Cleese was 24. Alfred Hitchcock was 35. So you're going to beat both of them at least, if I have anything to do with it.' She took his hands. 'Now, how's about you and me go upstairs and I can take you through the basic induction course. Don't worry, we can stop any time you start to feel dizzy.'

He pulled away from her again, frowning.

'What?'

'I just… I just don't want this to end up like last time.'

The blankness of her expression began to turn to anger again. 'Last time?'

'The last time a girl did all the chasing… a nice girl… and as soon as I showed any interest… well, it's like I told you last week…'

Lizzie stood up sharply and stamped her feet into her boots.

'Lizziefish? Are you leaving? Why are you going?'

'Do you think,' she snarled, 'I give a rat's arse about Judy Bloody Wellman?' She tied her bootlaces quickly. 'This is supposed to be about you and me, Colin. Do you really think I want some stuck-up tart who's not been around for years to get in the way of my sex life?'

Colin got up and followed her as she marched to the door. 'I was only telling you, Fish. I thought you'd understand.'

'Of course I understand! I always understand! You've been hurt. I know you've been hurt, but you won't let me make it better, will you?'

'I…'

'What, you think you're unique? You think you're the only one who's been rejected time after time and had to put up with all that humiliation and loneliness? You don't think I've ever been rejected? Don't think I've ever been hurt?'

She opened the door and stormed out into the street.

'Who hurt you?' attempted Colin, following her out.

'Doesn't matter!' shouted Liz. 'What matters is that, despite all that I still pulled all the stops out for you, and it still wasn't good enough. And because some stupid lanky cow couldn't make up her mind a good year ago I'm supposed to carry on like a Saint with you? Well I'm not a bloody Saint, I'm not a bloody Nun, I'm not even a psychologist. I failed, failed, FAILED!'

'Liz!' He grabbed her arm and span her around to face him. She had started to cry.

'Get off.'

'Where's all this coming from, Liz? This isn't you.'

'Of course it's me, you silly arse.' She sniffed. 'This is me. I'm not this wonderful, caring girl who always listens and always comes up with the right thing to say. I just wanted to try… I wanted to try because I thought that was what you needed. I'm the girl who turns up to an interview with her jumper inside out. I'm the journalist who can't spell "journalist". I'm not even a real redhead.'

'I guessed.'

'It's a sham, Sir.' She began to really sob. 'I'm no great relationship expert, I've only had two boyfriends and I've buggered them both up royally. I start food fights in Indian Restaurants. I make the Samaritans think I've committed suicide.' She took a deep breath and wailed. 'I threw your mobile phone off a third storey balcony!'

If she had any more confessions to make, she would have to keep them to herself. Because, for some reason that he didn't fully understand himself, Colin suddenly needed to push her against a lamppost and kiss her. Really kiss her. _Really_ kiss her.


	11. The Best Fireworks 3

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

THE BEST FIREWORKS THIS SIDE OF BROMLEY – 3

-x-

It was half past eleven. Spike and Lynda walked briskly down the frosted street.

'Nice of Jeff to let us off early,' said Spike as they walked.

'Mm-hmm.'

'Is it me, or did he seem kinda put-out to you?'

'Not put-out. Confused, perhaps.'

'Yeah.' Spike thought for a moment. 'Odd, though, isn't it?'

'Odd…?'

Spike nodded. 'The switchboard has been jammed for weeks now, New Year's Eve has always been one of the busiest nights of the year for the Samaritans, but tonight… what was it? Five calls?'

'Four,' replied Lynda, 'and two of those were the same wrong number.'

'See what I mean? Odd.' Spike blew on his hands. 'So, we've got thirty minutes left to celebrate the passing of 1993. What are we gonna do?'

'We're going to cover the Town Square Festival.'

'The best fireworks this side of Bromley,' replied Spike. 'How did I guess? And how are we gonna get to the office, pick up a camera and get back to the town square in time, pray tell?'

'Don't need to.' Lynda pulled a camera from her bag. 'Always be prepared.'

'Riiight…' muttered Spike. 'Always be prepared, just in case you're not needed at your night job against all conceivable odds and get to leave early and get your own way without losing face.'

Lynda slowed her pace slightly, and stared at her boyfriend. 'What are you suggesting, exactly?'

'I wasn't suggesting anything.'

'Yes you were. You were suggesting that somehow I did something to the Norbridge Samaritans' switchboard so that they'd get redirected to Maidstone all night just so that we could get out to cover the New Year celebrations, aren't you?'

'Well, at least they got redirected to Maidstone,' grinned Spike, 'I thought you were just gonna cut them off.'

'Spike. I'm not _completely_ cold hearted and self serving.'

Spike linked arms with her. 'You're a cunning, conniving bitch, Lynda Day.'

'Thank you.' She kissed the back of his hand. 'You're not too bad yourself.'

-x-

They were hit with a tide of warmth and light as they turned the corner into the Town Square. They had never seen it so full of people before. The main stage was being set up for the next group, but still music, laughter and chatter came clashing in from all angles – violins, guitars, woodwinds, harps, accordions, voices – a dozen different tunes, but all the same music. There was a small ferris wheel at the far end of the square and small stands selling toffee apples, snacks and various strange drinks peppering the pavements.

Spike scratched his head, surprisingly impressed. 'Well I'll be.'

'What did I tell you?' Lynda started to warm up the camera's flash.

'Hey! There _are_ young people here after all.'

'Very funny.' The blonde girl shuffled up to them both, hands stuffed in her pockets.

'Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Sarah.' Lynda hid her smirk with the camera. 'To what do we owe the pleasure?'

'You call yourself a journalist - haven't you been watching the news?' Sarah sniffed. 'It's snowing a blizzard in the West Midlands, Birmingham's at a standstill. They cancelled all the trains, so I thought I might as well come down here, since you'd made such a fuss. What about you?'

Spike shrugged. 'Turns out we weren't needed tonight. Good thing too, you didn't want to ring in the new year on your own, did ya?'

'I'm not on my own,' replied Sarah.

'All right?'

Spike turned around to see Frazz and Tiddler approaching through the throng. Both were carrying full, steaming paper cups and grinning.

'This is turning into a great party!' Frazz grinned with uncharacteristic enthusiasm and passed his cup to Sarah.

'I found him dancing to a man playing Mull of Kintyre on the bagpipes,' explained Tiddler, 'sounds like his little "get together" became too public and had to be cancelled last minute.'

'And what about your sleepover?' Lynda looked Tiddler up and down. She was dressed in an electric blue minidress, a velvet jacket and was struggling to balance on a pair of high-heeled shoes. The 16 year old's face was covered in make-up and glitter and she reeked of sickly sweet perfume and cigarette smoke.

Tiddler sighed. 'I got confused.'

'Confused? At a sleepover?'

Tiddler rolled her eyes. 'Outside Roxy's, OK? I gave the bouncer my ID and he asked what my birthdate was. And… I panicked. 17th November 1975. See? It's easy to say _now_…'

'What did you tell him?' Grinned Spike.

'1759.' Tiddler bit her lip as the others burst into hysterics. 'It's a mistake anybody could have made!'

'Telling a nightclub bouncer that you were born halfway through the 18th Century? I'm afraid not, Tiddler…' Lynda wiped an eye as she watched Tiddler down her drink. 'That had better not be alcoholic, young lady.'

Tiddler scowled over the brim of her cup. 'I'll drink what I like. I'm 250 years old.'

'What the Bloody Hell are you lot doing here…?' Billy wheeled up to the group irritably.

'Bitching,' answered Sarah.

'Room for two more?'

'Two?'

'Yeah.' Billy smiled, lopsidedly. 'Michael Flatley kicked me out. Said I was showing him up. And then I found _somebody_ banging her head repeatedly on a lamp post and I thought we'd make a pretty good team. She just went to buy herself a flagon of elderflower wine to drown her sorrows in.'

On cue, the bubble-permed, panda-eyed Blonde grabbed one of the handles of his chair for support, a bottle of wine at her lips.

Bar Frazz, who had started to dance again, the group exchanged glances.

'Beano's parents didn't take to you too good, huh?'

Julie removed the bottle from her mouth temporarily and choked. 'Oh they liked me, Spike. They liked me just fine. Only they kept calling me Jill.'

'Is that a problem?'

'It was when Jill turned up,' sobbed Julie. 'Turns out Beano's ex-girlfriend isn't as Ex as he'd told me. I've never looked like such an idiot before in my life!'

'I wouldn't know…' began Lynda, but Spike spoke over her.

'Well! I guess the gang's all here…'

'_Almost_ all,' corrected Sarah.

'That's a point,' added Lynda. 'What time do you reckon it is with Kenny?'

'About 10 in the morning, I think,' replied Billy.

'Yeah,' piped Spike, 'he's probably trying to sleep off a killer hangover about now.'

'Remind me to call him tonight,' Lynda grinned evilly.

'He's not the only one missing,' said Tiddler. 'Surely of all the people whose plans for tonight should have gone horribly wrong by now…'

'Don't jinx it, Tiddler,' interrupted Lynda.

But Tiddler had trailed off of her own accord, distracted by a rowdy bunch pushing their way drunkenly through the throng, evidently merely stumbling from one pub to the other rather than stopping to enjoy the festivities. Lynda followed her eyeline. One of the girls in the other group looked familiar.

'Is that Cindy Watkins?'

Tiddler sneered. 'More's the pity. That girl's like a bad penny. Slapper.'

'Tiddler!' tutted Lynda. 'Cindy's a friend… a friend of the paper. Besides, she's got… problems…' Lynda watched the staggering, cackling girl with dismay. Cindy was everything Colin had described and worse. Her dress was shorter than Tiddler's, low cut and sleeveless, without a jacket. She walked on her ridiculously high heeled boots with the gait of one who was used to them. Her hair was scraped with a masochistic tightness away from her face, which was orange with makeup. There was a bottle in her hand and a lovebite on her neck. The man with his arm around her was well into his 30s.

'She's got problems, all right,' growled Tiddler. 'Lying little cow…'

'Tiddler?' Lynda lowered her voice. 'Is there something going on that I don't know about…?'

'It's finished now. Forget about it.'

'Tidge?'

'Not tonight, OK, Lynda?' Tiddler took another drink. 'Let's not ruin tonight, eh?'

Lynda started to say something but realised that the square had become hushed. There was a large band assembled on the stage, waiting patiently. They were all listening to silence - the silence being played over the PA system. And suddenly a tune began – a simple chiming of the hours on the bells of the Houses of Parliament clock tower. A couple of foreign students cheered, not realising that the tune merely heralded the approach of midnight, and not midnight itself. Somebody hushed them and a tense silence fell again. There was a pause, a glorious pause as they all waited, with so many million others, their spirits standing in Parliament Square, their minds eyes cast upwards at that golden tower. It was like a mass inhalation of breath. The moment at the crest of a wave before it crashes down in crazy abandon. Then came the deep, booming voice of Big Ben himself, and everybody screamed as he counted out the twelve hours. The sky turned bright white and red and green as great colourful spheres exploded above their heads. Her face was grasped between two cold hands and Spike kissed her, then hugged her as Sarah took her hand and joined them all up in a circle. None of them knew the words to Auld Langs Ayne but they muddled through as well as they could at the tops of their voices with the band and the crowd because, for some reason, that felt like an important thing to do. As she tried to sing, and watched the sky rain fake fire on them all, Lynda thought about the year that had passed, and the things she had come so close to losing – two best friends, three if you counted Spike, although the potential loss of Spike was always more worrying than that of any others – her own life, a couple of times, and worse than all of that, her paper. She clutched the hands in hers a little tighter. It wasn't going to happen this year. This year was going to be different. This year was going to be all forwards and no backwards. Everything would be different.

-x-

Everything would be different, from now on. Everything. The world was different… no… it was him that was different… something had gone. Something had been allowed to leave, and something else had been allowed in in its place. Something better. Something warm and gentle.

The girl curled into him stirred lazily.

'What's the time?'

He propped himself up on his elbow, searching for the digital clock on his video recorder.

'Quarter to five.'

The girl grunted vaguely in acknowledgement and tugged the throw tighter over them both.

'You cold?'

'No.'

'You comfortable?'

She snorted a little laugh. 'No.'

'Me neither.'

It was, after all, only a small sofa. It wasn't designed for two adults to be able to comfortably lie on together. Still, he must have nodded off for half an hour or so, since he could remember dreaming.

'Want to go up to bed?'

She shook her head so that her hair tickled his face. 'I don't think my legs work any more, Sir.'

That was a good point. He didn't really think he had the energy to get upstairs either.

He was certain that there had been fireworks outside at some point. Not that he'd particularly noticed. Armageddon could have begun, the sky above him could have split and rained down purple pixies and he would have ignored them. The pixies could have started vomiting gold and diamonds and he wouldn't have spared them a second glance. Something else had found and retained his undivided attention. And it wasn't even to do with money.

He had finally found something better.

He had kissed her and kissed her against that lamp post and he'd found both of them moving their hands to strange places and he had become suddenly aware that there were net curtains twitching and that they really shouldn't keep doing what they were doing out in the street. They had kissed and crashed and stumbled clumsily back towards his house. Frankly, they had only just made it into the privacy behind the front door before something had desperately needed to be done about the whole kissing and fumbling situation. He'd often thought about the loss of his virginity in the past, invented ways in which it might happen, but not once had he imagined the way that the act finally took place. Lonely young men tend not to set their fantasies in the front lobby of their small rented house, and said fantasies tend not to involve having to kick away shoes and umbrellas to make room, or the complete destruction of a set of coat pegs.

He reached up with difficulty and toyed with her bright, fake hair.

There _had_ been fireworks towards the end of that fast, furious encounter at the door, he was sure of it. And as they'd collapsed onto the sofa she'd noticed that midnight had passed, and they'd wished one another a happy new year, and kissed again. And again, and again. And, because they hadn't bothered to take all their clothes off at the front door, they had done so then, and she'd introduced him to a much slower, lazier form of lovemaking.

An attempt to make them both a cup of tea had lead to an experimental and not entirely comfortable session on a kitchen worksurface. But then they'd curled up together on the sofa again and had done it again. He'd decided that, so far, he definitely liked sofa sex the best.

He ran his fingers down the nape of her neck to her shoulder blades, and traced them over the curly tail of the monkey silhouette tattooed there.

'It's no good,' muttered Liz, 'I've tried and I've tried, but I just can't get this damn monkey off my back.' She gazed over her shoulder at his nonplussed expression. 'That was a joke, Sir. I usually use it as an icebreaker at that awkward 'undressing for the boudoir' stage, but we seem to have skipped that bit.'

'You can get laser surgery,' replied Colin, 'if you want to get rid of it.'

Liz sat up and looked down at him. 'You're adorable, did you know that?' She shivered. 'Ah, sod it. Now I have to pee. Guess I'll have to brave the stairs after all.' She stood up, and the throw fell from her body, like a robe tumbling from a Classical Heroine. Except that Aphrodite never cursed loudly at how cold it was, and had probably never had 'Celtic Forever' tattooed onto her right buttock. She turned to him, rubbing her arms against the cold.

'What about you, Sir? You coming to bed?'

Of course he was coming to bed. Of course he was. What a wonderful thing to be asked by a beautiful, naked woman. Not that he had any strength or inclination to do the normal thing one does when a beautiful, naked woman asks you if you're coming to bed. Not for now, anyway. No. No, he would sleep. They would both sleep late into the morning, and then he'd make her breakfast… _after_ he'd cleaned the kitchen surfaces… and then he could quite happily spend the rest of the day christening the top floor of his house as he had done the ground floor that night.

She caught his involuntary smile at the memory.

'What are you smirking at?'

'Just…' Colin sat up himself. 'I think that might have been the best "quiet night in" I've ever had.'

Liz nodded, sagely. 'It was pretty spectacular, yeah.' She paused, halfway out of the room. 'Was it me, or were there fireworks?'

Colin began to follow her up the stairs. 'The best this side of Bromley.'


	12. Business As Usual 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Business As Usual

-x-

One

-x-

JANUARY 2nd:

Tiddler surveyed the newsroom as she pulled the last piece of tinsel from the wall. What a difference a day made. All of a sudden it wasn't Christmas any more, it was just Winter. You get New Year's Day to sleep off the hangover and then it's just business as usual. As exciting as it had been spending New Years Eve getting elegantly drunk at the festival with a group of twenty-somethings instead of getting booted out of pubs by bouncers and resorting to a couple of sneaked alcopops on a park bench with schoolfriends, she could seriously have done without the hangover. And this was the worst hangover of all – the hangover of adult sobriety. She sighed a little. She was 16 now – the age Lynda had been when put in charge of the Junior Gazette. Tiddler was no longer a child. She already had her GCSE Revision wall chart made, shaded and pinned up in her bedroom in place of the Take That poster. And then of course there was this part-time job. Her oh-so very grown up part time job. That she'd had since she was twelve. Spending her school holidays taking down tinsel.

The newsroom was full again for the first time since before Christmas Eve, although the mood was very different now. People frowned at their computers instead of smiling at each other. There was a hushed argument taking part between the features team and an ad sales rep. Tiddler watched as one member of the bickering group split away and made a bee-line for Lynda. The Editor didn't even stop typing to acknowledge the grumbling journalist, but at least waited for her to finish her sentence.

'And what do you expect me to do about it?' replied Lynda, still typing.

'We need to sort it out,' moaned the complainer, 'right now.'

'Then sort it out,' retorted Lynda. 'Don't come crying to me about it.'

'Well, maybe if our manager was here…' began the moaner.

On cue, UpStart's Financial Director, Sales Manager, Features Editor and general source of surrealism strode through the doors with a cheerful 'Morning!'

Lynda indicated towards the doors. 'Speak of the devil and lo, he will… Oh my God.'

Tiddler followed Lynda's astonished gaze and did a double-take herself.

'What?' Colin raised his eyebrows innocently and pushed his hands into his jeans pockets.

'Jeans?' managed Lynda.

Colin shrugged. 'Don't have any meetings today, no need to dress up.'

'Whose sweater is that?'

'Mine.' He looked down at his uncharacteristically well co-ordinated casuals. 'Why? Does it look OK?'

'Yes,' replied Lynda with surprise.

The whining journalist cut in, leading Colin towards the Features desk, leaving Lynda blinking at Tiddler. Tiddler knew what thought was going through Lynda's mind, as it was apparent to her as well – _Somebody had dressed him_.

'It's no good,' said the complainer, jabbing a marker at a mock-up of the centre page spread, 'we need to get the copy turned around for this January Sales feature _today_, and there's still two spaces not sold.'

'We're trying as best as we can!' Blurted a young sales rep, 'It's tough out there right now!'

Colin stared at the mock-up, then at the revenue chart. He shrugged. 'Close enough.' He pointed at the smaller hole in the mock-up. 'Fill that with a stock photo of the High Street. As for the big one… Sod it, I've been promising Czar's a free edit since that cock-up in November. Sling something in there about his student discounts. That'll do.'

'November wasn't a cock-up,' protested the sales rep, 'it was a minor mutual communication break-down, that's what you've always…'

'We all make mistakes,' grinned Colin as he floated serenely into his office.

The stunned silence was broken by Spike, watching in amusement from Frazz's desk.

'Awesome,' beamed the American at his friend. 'I do believe you owe me five pounds, Mister Davies'

'Please,' huffed Frazz. 'I need better proof than that.'

'Proof? What more proof can there be?' Spike pointed towards Colin's office door. 'That is one young man who has just seriously untangled his Slinky.'

'Spike!' snapped Lynda, 'That's disgusting.'

Spike shot Lynda a smile. 'Really? Care to join Frazz in our little wager in that case?'

'Don't be ridiculous.' Lynda went back to her computer. 'He obviously has.'

Spike jabbed a victorious finger at Frazz. 'Ha! Fork it over, buddy.'

Frazz scowled. 'Not without proof.'

'Proof? We never discussed proving anything. How'm I supposed to prove something like that?'

'Sorry I'm late.' Liz sauntered into the office as nonchalantly as possible. Several pairs of eyes automatically turned to her. She wore no makeup and a strange expression.

'Explanation?' asked Lynda, flatly.

'Something… erm… came up…' muttered Liz.

'Something urgent that had to be dealt with straight away…?' prompted Lynda.

Liz nodded, biting down a smirk.

'Nice shirt,' added Spike. 'New, is it?'

Liz looked down briefly at the man's shirt she had tried to disguise by tying at the midriff. 'Um…'

'Only I'm sure I've seen it before,' continued Spike. 'It isn't borrowed, is it?'

Liz narrowed her eyes at the American. 'All right. You win. I haven't been home yet.'

Frazz sighed and slapped a five pound note into Spike's waiting hand.

'Don't tell me you boys had a bet going.' Liz settled herself down at her desk. 'I mean, come on – he was a sure thing. Poor guy was fit to burst by the time I got to him.'

'Can we all stop talking about this please?' snapped Julie. 'Some of us actually find it quite disgusting.'

'Oh, it _was_ disgusting,' grinned Liz.

'Liz,' warned Lynda, 'stop now.'

'Like Pandora's Box,' muttered Liz, quietly, 'choc full of dirty little things you never expected to be there. And once it's opened, there wasn't a thing a girl could do to stop it…'

'I'm not going to sit here and listen to this,' declared Julie.

'Ach, quit yer whining, Julie. You didn't miss out, really.'

'I am _not_ suggesting that I…'

'You'd have hated it. You're allergic to Nutella, for starters.'

'Right!' Julie started packing up her things. 'I'm going to finish this report in the Tea Room.'

'Why? What?' Liz flashed a look of innocent bemusement at the office in general. 'I don't still have something between my teeth, do I? How embarrassing, I thought I'd flossed it all out…'

Liz watched the door slam behind Julie and smirked.

'Too much, Liz,' snapped Lynda. 'Much too much. Let's try to retain a little professionalism here, shall we?'

Liz snorted. 'With all due respect, I'm not the one running an office sweep on whether my Boyfriend's managed to have sex yet.'

The "B" Word caused a handful of eyebrows to rise. Liz stood up, angrily.

'Yes, people. Boyfriend. Not drunken one-nighter or sympathy shag. He's a good guy. He's a…'

'We know he's a good guy,' sighed Spike. 'Calm down, Liz.'

'Well I won't put up with comments like that,' retorted Liz, signalling to where Julie had made her exit. 'No matter what you think of him, no matter what your history with him might involve. Say what you like about him, but not when I'm around, because he might not pick up on it when you openly insult him, but I do, and I do not take kindly to it. OK?'

A deadly silence fell. Attention in the office flitted from Liz to a dangerously calm looking Lynda and back again.

'Finished?' asked Lynda, eventually.

Liz nodded, sinking back to her seat.

'Fine,' replied Lynda. 'Now unless any of you want to experience a pencil sharpener from the inside I don't want to hear another word on this subject. From you, Liz, or anyone. Office romances are difficult, distracting and, unless they're handled right, a minefield for unprofessionality and malicious gossip, especially when it's with your boss. Right, Spike?'

'Absolutely Boss,' agreed Spike. 'I don't know why you don't just ban 'em.'

'Neither do I.' Lynda smirked down at her desk. 'So best of luck, Liz. And in the future try to make sure any relationship issues happen in your own time.'

-x-

In his office, Colin drummed his fingers on the report that he'd been ignoring for the last ten minutes.

'Huh.'

He wondered momentarily why people always assumed that loud conversations in the newsroom couldn't be heard perfectly well from his office, then went back to pondering what it was that he had heard. The report remained unread all morning.

-x-

JANUARY 19th

-x-

'Right,' declared Lynda, clicking the lid back on her marker. 'Now it's official.'

'Liz is going to go mental.'

'Liz this, Liz that,' Lynda grumbled, 'do I look like I care what Liz thinks?'

'_I_ care,' replied Colin. 'It's me that'll get it in the neck for this, not you.'

'You didn't write the list.'

'Allowing a list like that to go up is as bad as writing it, believe me.'

'Do you have any objections about the list?'

'As a matter of fact, I do have objections about the list. I find the list very personally insulting.'

'It's not personal, Colin. It's a general code of conduct for the whole staff.'

'"No petting,"' read Colin from the large, red letters on the message board, '"no canoodling, no discussions about sexual practices or barely disguised descriptions of the same"… Lynda, this is persecution!'

'How is it persecution?'

'How come when you and Spike were the only couple working here there was no list?'

Lynda sat down at her desk and started flipping through her rollerdesk. 'Well for starters, no Work Experience students ever walked in on me and Spike doing something unnatural in my office.'

'I put up a sign! "Consultation In Progress". Who walks in on a consultation in progress, I ask you…' Colin paused, guiltily. 'Have we heard from Karen's school yet?'

'Not yet.' Lynda arched an eyebrow. 'I imagine the poor girl's still in therapy, to be honest.'

'Well, lesson learned, OK? It was unprofessional. I get it. There's no need to put up an A2 poster on the message board for all and sundry to see…'

'How many times, Colin? The list isn't personal. It's a general code, and so everybody needs to be aware of it.'

'So I suppose we won't be seeing you and Spike canoodling any more?'

'Me and Spike don't canoodle.'

'You used to canoodle.'

Lynda stared at him darkly for a second before holding up a copy of the financial reports.

'On a different and apparently insignificant subject, would you care to tell me why all the little lines on this graph have started pointing downwards?'

Colin shrugged. 'Post Christmas slump. Perfectly normal for this time of year.'

'Really?' Lynda looked at the lines with concern. 'Any idea of when they'll start pointing up again?'

'Soon.'

'Can you be a little more specific?'

'Quite soon?'

Lynda rolled her eyes and handed the report back too him. 'It's a good job I'm pretty, Mathews.'

'You mean, it's a good job _I'm _ pretty.'

'"Good job I'm pretty." That's what I just said.'

-x-

JANUARY 24th - Morning

-x-

'Hey Lizzie. Good weekend?'

Liz glanced at the American coolly as they walked.

'Just a couple of weeks 'til Valentine's Day,' Spike added, 'I hope you're prepared…'

'I'm still not sure that I'm talking to you,' she replied.

'Still mad about the list, huh?'

Liz just glowered at him.

'Hey!' Spike held his hands up, innocently. 'It wasn't me, remember? I'm not the enemy here.'

'You Fraternise with the enemy, Spike. That's almost as bad.'

'Liz, honey, if everybody thought like that I wouldn't have any friends at all. Just because I'm crazy enough to be in love with that woman doesn't mean I'm in cahoots with her. Half the time I don't even know what she's doing, let alone cahooting. Besides…' he lowered his voice 'as far as I'm aware, it's not mine and Lynda's Fraternisation that's the issue here. Bearing in mind we've been together for quite a while now, what Fraternising we do manage do get up to these days is always behind closed doors.'

'The door _was_ closed!' Liz protested. 'Besides, that girl was 15 years old. Who gets shocked by that sort of thing at 15? I reckon she was milking it.'

Spike smirked. 'I think that's what she said about you when she…'

Liz cut him off with a burst of sarcastic laughter. 'All right, Chuckles, very funny. Surely that sort of talk has been banned by your Beloved's precious List?'

'Hey. In all seriousness, I'm happy for you.' Spike held the door of the office open for the Scot. 'Let's face it, if anybody's gonna understand what it's like to be nuts about a certifiable lunatic that you're also somehow supposed to work with, it's me.'

Liz paused in the doorway. 'OK. But yours is definitely more of a lunatic than mine…'

She was silenced suddenly as the door to the newsroom slammed open and her Colin ran screaming through the Reception. She drew half a breath to greet her boyfriend but he pushed straight past her into the street and kept on running, his scream fading slowly like a disappearing ambulance siren.

'You were saying…?' prompted Spike.

Liz turned from frowning after the fleeing figure of Colin to Spike. Before she could speak, a second scream rose up from the newsroom. Lynda.

Lizzie quirked an eyebrow at the American. '_You_ were saying…?'

Spike sighed. 'It's gonna be one of those days, isn't it?'

-x-

JANUARY 24th – Afternoon

-x-

'I just… I don't know what happened…' Colin, having finally been found, talked down from a full scale panic attack and driven back to the office, blinked at his own records as though looking at them for the first time.

Lynda continued to glare knives at him. 'I do. You didn't include the January expenditure. Somehow you - the person in charge of keeping this business ticking over financially - managed to completely forget all of the bills we have to pay for a whole month.'

'But that's not right…' Colin flicked desperately through his figures yet again. 'How could I possibly have missed them out of the budget? It's huge… it's… it's too big for me to have missed. I don't understand how I could have missed it…'

'Again,' replied Lynda through tight lips, 'allow me to shed light. You have started to date a girl. Said girl works here with you and has a seeming insatiable appetite, in spite of her current lapse in taste, for physical affection, in the workplace and elsewhere…'

'Don't start blaming Liz. If anyone's to blame for this it's…'

'You. I know.' Lynda leaned in to him. 'Colin, I'm very aware that this is your fault, I'm just trying to explain to you why.' She sighed and softened her tone a little. 'It's not exactly an uncommon issue, you know. People's personal lives get in the way of their work sometimes – it's almost unavoidable. Only way you've managed to steer clear of that in the past is you haven't really had a personal life to distract you until recently. It's probably a bit of a shock to your system that you've got something other than your job to occupy you right now.'

'Oh.' Colin gnawed at his lip.

'I'm right, aren't I? You're even thinking about her now, aren't you?'

'I'm going to have to finish with her, aren't I? Or sack her or something awful like that.' Colin stared up at Lynda, miserably. 'I mean, that's what you're saying, isn't it? I can't have her and do my job as well… that's it, isn't it?'

'Is that what _you_ think?'

'Do you want to know what I did yesterday, Lynda?'

'Not if it's…'

'Helped her with the crossword in bed,' interrupted Colin, 'had bacon sandwiches, went to the supermarket, played Scrabble. Made jam.'

'Is that what you kids are calling it these days…?'

'It was Damson Cheese. Lynda, I spent all weekend doing little domestic things with my girlfriend. It was all so… Normal. And I loved it.'

'So…?'

'So that's not Me, is it? Maybe I'm just not meant to do Normal stuff.'

Despite the financial crisis, Lynda found a small smile trying to form on her lips.

'Colin, the issue here isn't that being happy has somehow drained you of your evil powers. The issue is that at the moment you're struggling to separate work from your private life and it's caused you to make a really terrible mistake. Frankly, it's you I should be sacking, not Liz.' Lynda caught the panic on Colin's expression. 'However, if I was of the opinion that you were in any way expendable I'd have fired you a very long time ago.'

Colin just blinked.

'That's a compliment, Colin.'

'Oh. Thanks. I think.'

'So. Let's recap. You're not leaving, Liz isn't leaving and if she's making you happy I recommend that you don't call it a day with Miss Fish just yet. We are, however, now several thousand pounds down due to your little lapse of concentration.'

'I'm going to fix it, Lynda.'

'Yes you are, Colin. Otherwise I'm sure you can imagine what will happen to you.'

'Would it involve a sharp implement?'

Lynda shrugged. 'Sharp… blunt… spiked… depends on my mood at the time, really, but it would defiantly be an implement of sorts, yes.'

-x-

JANUARY 24th – Evening

-x-

It was gone eight. Lynda switched off her computer and, as was her habit since the fire, checked the empty newsroom for any power points left on. There was still a light on in Colin's office. She let herself in without knocking, as was also her habit.

'I'm going home now. Do you want a coffee or anything?'

Colin looked up at her. 'I think I know how this can be fixed.'

Lynda scrutinised his expression. 'You're lining up a "but" for me here, aren't you?'

'But,' continued Colin, 'you're not going to like it.'

'Let's hear it, then.'

'We need to make up the shortfall by the time the next lot of bills are due,' said Colin. 'Not long, in other words. The money's definitely out there, but in all reality I don't think we've got the resources to get it in.'

'You want more Reps?'

'I always _want_ more Reps,' Colin replied, 'but we've never got the funds to hire any more. The difference now is that I desperately _need _more Reps and we've got even less funds.'

'Solution?'

Colin licked his lips, nervously. 'Can I borrow a couple of journalists?'

Lynda growled and pushed her fingers through her hair.

'Told you you weren't going to like it,' apologised Colin.

Lynda regarded Colin again.

'It gets worse, doesn't it?'

Colin tried a small smile and shifted his gaze to just above Lynda's left ear.

'Did you have anyone in particular in mind that you wanted to "borrow"?' persevered Lynda.

Again, she was met with no reply. She didn't need one.

'Oh God, Colin! After everything that's happened today you're seriously going to ask if you can have her on your team?'

'I need people who are going to take to it easily. The way she works – the way she gets into peoples' heads… she'd be great at sales. And I trust her. I need people who'll understand what a big deal this is and do it properly. Lynda, I'm serious.'

Lynda rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'Isn't there anyone else, Colin? There has to be _somebody_ else who you think could moonlight in sales and trust enough to do it well.'

'There is. Why do you think I'm asking for _two_ journalists?'

They met eyes.

'No, Colin.'

'Only for a couple of weeks.'

'No!'

'Lynda, we need this!'

'They are not Sales Reps…'

'And I'm not Editorial, but you still…'

'Don't start.' Lynda paused. 'Show me the graph again.'

She gazed at the plummeting lines on the graph that Colin held up briefly for her and sighed, despondantly.

'They won't be happy.'

'Two weeks,' repeated Colin.

'One and a half,' replied Lynda. 'You've got until next Thursday's deadlines, then I'm having them back.'

'Who's going to tell them?'

'You are. First thing in the morning. In the meantime, let's both get a night's peace and quiet while we still can.'

'Right.' Colin got to his feet, pushing his records into a messy pile on his desk. He was about to leave the office when he stalled.

'Lynda…?'

'Yes?'

'We _are_ both talking about the same people, aren't we?'

'Yes, Colin. We're both talking about Liz and Spike.'

'We're not going to be very popular for a while round here, are we?'

'So what's new?' Lynda held the door open for him. 'Switch your plugs off and let's go.'


	13. Business As Usual 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Business As Usual - Two

-x-

January 27th

-x-

Spike blinked and backtracked. How Liz was expecting to hide successfully by shrinking down on the bench she was sitting at and pretending to be engrossed in whatever was on her notepad was beyond him. He tried waving. Liz continued to ignore him. Eventually he just leaped up to join her, perching himself on the top of the backrest, his feet on the seat beside her. Since she couldn't ignore him any more, Liz put down her pad and looked up at him.

'All right, Spike?'

Spike shrugged. 'OK I guess. Considering I'm being forced to do a job that isn't anything like what I actually want to do…'

'…and that you've got a sneaking suspicion you're the one that has to do it because your Boss has a certain amount of emotional leverage on you due to the complicated nature of your relationship? I can't imagine what that must be like.'

Spike smiled, shaking his head. 'Yeah, I guess we're kinda in the same boat here.'

'If only one of us could find the blessed paddle,' added Liz. 'So how are you faring in the wonderful world of Media Sales?'

'I intrude on peoples' work and hassle, charm and sweet talk them into giving the paper something that they really don't want to.' Spike shrugged. 'it's just the same as journalism, only it's cash I'm wheedling out of them now instead of stories.'

'I guess you've just got the kind of manipulative mindset that makes you a natural at Sales…'

'Oh please, Lizzie – I've seen the kind of revenue you've been bringing in the last couple of days. Don't act like you're not depressingly good at it too.'

Lizzie scoffed. 'Don't remind me. Right now I think I hate me even more than the other Reps do.'

'You're their boss' Little Woman,' replied Spike, 'you were never going to be a smash hit with them.'

'Welcome to your world, right?'

'Oh, I'm popular anyway,' grinned Spike, 'I got the kind of devilishly handsome magnetism that'll overcome all sorts of odds. Thanks Liz, I'd love some.'

Liz rolled her eyes and tore her last stick of chewing gum, already half unwrapped, in two, passing half to Spike.

Spike popped the gum into his mouth and began to chew. 'So what I was wondering,' he announced, 'if you're not keen to outdo folks in this Ad Sales malarkey why exactly it is that you're workin' my patch?'

'Ah,' replied Liz, chewing carefully, 'rumbled.'

'I'm quite the rumbler.'

'Don't worry, Spike, your "patch" is safe. I'm not here to sell ads. Not today, anyway.' She flashed him a glance, guilt quickly giving way to excitement. 'Remember my Skate Park Story?'

'Sure I do. I'm brushin' the cobwebs off my old skateboard for the Grand Opening myself, see if an old timer like me can't teach those schoolkids a trick or two.'

'Well, put your Mister Sheen on hold, Spike. It sounds as if it's not going to be as sure a thing as we thought.'

'You're kidding… after all the campaigning, the lobbying to get the grant… I thought it was all decided.'

'I got a call last night.' Liz lowered her voice, conspiratorially. 'The planning committee were handed a petition this week from over 200 concerned businesses and residents here in The Willows. It seems that there are worries a Skate Park in this area would lower the tone.'

'What?' hissed Spike. 'They're only gonna build on that lousy derelict site, how could the tone of that get any lower?'

'I know.'

'And kids already skate there, only right now it's incredibly dangerous…'

'I know!'

'These are the same people who complain about kids hanging out on the streets,' continued Spike, reddening with indignation, 'but when…'

'Spike. I know.' Liz waved her notebook at him. 'Don't you worry, we're going to kick up a Hell of a fuss about this.'

'Sure.' Spike nodded, calming down. 'Good. Who are ya gonna give the story to?'

'What?'

'Somebody good, I hope.'

'Spike,' replied Lizzie, 'this is _my_ story. I've done a Hell of a lot of work on this, I'm not giving it away. This is going to be my first front page, I can feel it. I'm not letting go.'

'Guess so.' Spike chewed some more. 'So who's Colin getting to replace you?'

Liz looked down at her notes.

'You haven't told him, have you?' Spike watched Lizzie. 'You're not gonna tell him at all, are you?'

'It'll be OK, I'll work something out,' replied Liz. 'I've brought in 12 hundred quid already…'

'Your target's three grand,' Spike reminded her. 'We need that money, Liz. Do you think I'd be doing this if we didn't?'

'I'll work on both…'

'No you won't, Liz. I know what you're like with your Projects. You get obsessed. Tell him. Tell him you can't do it, he'll get someone else to cover the rest of the money.'

'I'd be asking him to compromise his position,' said Liz. 'He'd give me special treatment because he knows how much this story means to me, and we'd both hate that…'

'You're already compromising his position, Liz. You wouldn't be playing it this way if you weren't his girlfriend.'

'I'll work something out,' Liz repeated.

'Please don't,' replied Spike. 'Listen, I know you're his girl, I know he tells you stuff about himself he'd never dream of sharing with the rest of us, but trust me. I've known that guy for years, and if there's one thing he's really serious about, it's money. He worked his ass off keeping the Junior Gazette afloat, and he did the same to get UpStart off the ground so he will not be happy if that's jeopardised for some kids' play park.'

'He knows this is important - for the community, for the paper, for me…'

Spike shook his head. 'Liz. Honey. It's not gonna count in his eyes. Nothing is more important to him than money.'

Liz looked up at the American, furiously. 'That's sad. It's very sad that that's how you feel about him. And you're supposed to be his friend?'

'One of the best he has,' replied Spike, 'whatever that means.'

Liz sprang to her feet. 'How can you believe he's that shallow?'

'Because I _know_ him.'

'No you don't. He's not like that. It's just a show he puts on, anybody can see that… anybody who cares about him, that is… I'm not the one dating a… a demented, obsessive, detested megalomaniac…'

'Hey!' cried Spike, reproachfully, 'that was damned well uncalled for!'

Liz bit her lip, forcing herself to calm down. 'I'm sorry, Spike. I didn't mean it.'

'Everybody means that about Lynda sometimes.' Spike flashed her a small, forgiving smile.

'Don't tell on me, will you?'

'It's not my place,' replied Spike. 'He's not my boyfriend. Oh, and for the record – I might be dating a demented, obsessive, detested megalomaniac, but so are you. The sooner you accept that and learn to deal with it, the easier it'll be. Believe me.'

Liz just looked at him, clicking and unclicking her biro. 'I've got some snobs to interview.'

Spike watched her go. 'Good luck, Liz. I think you'll need it.'

-x-

February 1st

-x-

Spike tapped Liz on her left shoulder and then darted around the other side. Used to the trick, Liz automatically looked to her right and saw him.

'Hiya Spike.'

'Pinch punch first of the month. Only two weeks 'til Valentine's Day, you know.'

Liz frowned. 'You're the third person to mention that to me so far today. Do you lot know something that I don't?'

'No, no,' smirked Spike, 'I'm sure it'll be fine.

Liz shook her head. 'Surrounded by Yanks and Sassenachs. Youse lot are all weird.' She popped a couple of silvers into the vending machine. 'Mars Bar or Hula Hoops, what do you reckon?'

'What, for breakfast?'

'Sod it, I'll have both.' Liz stuck another 20p in the machine and started keying in her order. 'I'm off out,' she explained, 'probably won't get back 'til afternoon.'

'More Skate Park stuff?'

'The plot thickens,' she murmured, leaning in to him. 'You know Michael Dickens?'

'Owner of Dickens' Department Store?' Spike snorted a laugh. 'Well, I know _of_ him. Tried to interview the guy once back when I started, he wouldn't give me the time of day. Got a rod so far up his ass the top end of it tickles his tonsils.'

'Correct,' beamed Liz. 'Except for one small but oh-so-significant detail. Turns out he's not the owner of Dickens' after all. At least, not the sole owner. He inherited half the company off his Dad back in 83, but the other half went to his wee sister Connie. She's a silent partner – or has been, up until now.'

'I never heard of a Connie Dickens.'

'Well, she got married a few years back,' replied Liz, 'to fellow Youth Worker and keen amateur skater Peter Chong.'

'Connie Chong? Connie Chong owns half of Dickens'…' Spike got himself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. 'And let me guess, Dickens is one of the main objectors to the new park.'

'First name on the petition,' said Liz. 'Although I don't know whether or not he was aware what he was petitioning against was his sister's project. But Connie's fighting fire with fire. She's said now that if the Skate Park doesn't get built on the original proposed site, she has a new location for it…'

'The car park of Dickens'?' Spike anticipated.

'The car park and half the Gardening Department, aye.' Liz stuffed the chocolate bar and crisps into her pockets. 'Both sides are meeting about it in under half an hour so I'd better skedaddle. Dickens' face is going to be a picture…'

'Buggerations!' The editor of UpStart came flying in to the Staff Room - a dervish of hair and knitwear – and started prizing the lid off the tea kitty jar. 'Where the Hell is Colin?'

'Why?' asked Spike in amusement, 'has he got a better way of getting into donations jars?'

'I've got a taxi waiting outside and all of two pounds fifty on me… ow!' She nursed a broken nail briefly in her mouth before going at the jar with her fingers yet again. 'And so the one time I need to get into the petty cash box and I've had the poor judgement to trust him with the key, he's nowhere to be found.'

'Breakfast meeting with the Chamber of Commerce,' Liz explained, hurrying out of the door. 'There's a taxi, you say? Mind if I borrow it?'

'Don't you dare, Liz,' growled Lynda, 'it's mine. I'm late for the Dentist's as it is…'

'I need it for a Work Thing,' called Lizzie over her shoulder. 'You'll thank me in a couple of days…'

'Liz! Come back here, you illiterate little Leprechaun!'

The door swung shut behind the Scot at the same moment that the kitty jar popped open, scattering coppers. 'Damn! Spike, you're so brilliant with money now apparently, help me pick these up.'

'Boss. Hey. Lynda.' Spike took her shoulders, gently. 'Give it up. You've missed your ride.'

Lynda took a harsh, angry breath in, stared Spike in the eyes for a moment, and then let a much longer, calmer breath out again. 'But my tooth hurts,' she told him.

'It's fine. Be cool. I'll get Jim the Courier, he can take you to the Dentist in the van.'

'Jim the Courier stinks of Marijuana.'

Spike snorted a little laugh, in spite of the seriousness of Lynda's tone. 'I could take you on my bike…'

Lynda blinked at the concept. 'I'll go with Stinky Jim.'

Spike kissed her on the forehead. 'Atta girl!'

'After all,' added Lynda, 'I wouldn't want you to ruffle your nice Salesman Suit on that stupid bike.'

'Oh, so you like the suit?'

'I like the bottom in the suit.' Because nobody was looking, she gave the be-suited derriere in question a quick squeeze. 'Maybe you should do sales full time after all.'

'Don't say things like that to me, Boss, not even as a joke. It'll give me nightmares.'

Lynda smiled and was about to lean in for a sneaky kiss when the coffee room was intruded upon.

'Anybody seen The Fish?'

Lynda turned on Colin the second he entered. Spike, not wishing to get into a conversation about what Liz could have been up to, made use of the distraction to sneak away.

'Why is it, Mathews, that you're always where I don't want you and never where I do?'

'What?'

Lynda extended an open palm. 'Where's the key to Petty Cash?'

Colin stared at her for a moment, then reached a hand into Lynda's cardigan pocket, pulled an impressive bunch of keys from it, isolated one small, silver key from the rest and placed it back in her hand. 'Right there.'

Lynda blinked down at the key that had been in her possession all along.

'Your bloody girlfriend stole my taxi,' she declared accusatorily, changing tack.

'She's gone, already?' Colin tutted in disappointment.

'I hope you wanted to see her for professional purposes. I don't want to have to make any additions to the List.'

'Don't worry, it was business - she won't talk Shop outside the office. She's forgotten to do her revenue updates for a couple of days. Tea?'

Lynda nodded. 'Maybe she's not getting much in. She's not a Sales Rep, after all.'

Colin started punching buttons on the vending machine. 'Not a chance. Some people are just naturals. She was doing really well up until the updates stop. The proper Reps were starting to get annoyed…' an invisible light bulb pinged on atop his head. 'That must be why she's being so secretive. She must be doing _really_ well!'

'Well, when she stole my ride she did say we'd thank her in a couple of days,' replied Lynda, accepting the tea.

'She's on to something,' said Colin, 'isn't she?'

'She usually is.'

Colin beamed, excitedly. 'I _knew_ she'd be brilliant!' He took his own cup of tea from the vending machine. 'Well, I'll leave her be then. I know ladies like to keep their little secrets.'

'We're an inscrutable lot,' added Lynda, sarcastically.

But, of course, Colin didn't get it.


	14. Business As Usual 3

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Business As Usual - Three

-x-

February 2nd

-x-

It was raining, and Lynda and Spike were hurrying towards the office under the same single umbrella. At least, they were both half under it, so large gobs of water collected on the rim and dripped onto their heads.

'I told you we'd be late,' complained Lynda, 'it's impossible to speedwalk with an umbrella.'

'We're not late,' replied Spike, cheerfully, 'we're just not early.'

'Same thing,' Lynda replied. 'And wipe that stupid smirk off your face. People will think we're coming in late because we've been doing something rude.'

'But we have.'

'Yes, but people will _think_ it!'

Spike wiped a thick film of rainwater from his forehead. 'Maybe I'm cheerful because as from tomorrow I get to be a reporter again. Don't tell me you haven't missed having me around the place.'

'I haven't missed you.' Lynda trod in a puddle and swore.

'Of course you have. You've been being nice to me for starters.'

'Colin wants to keep you and Lizzie, you know.'

'I thought he might. What did you tell him?'

'That he'd have to fight me for you.'

Spike laughed. 'I'd like to see that fight! Could you wear a bikini? Not for fighting Colin, just generally.'

Spike reached across to open the door and was met with a facefull of Scottish excitement.

'Lynda!' cried Liz, her volume control seemingly lost in her glee. 'Lynda, could I interest you in a cliché?'

'First thing in the morning?' Lynda quirked an eyebrow as she shook the rain off her umbrella. 'It had better be worth it.'

Liz pushed a folder into the editor's hands, beaming with pride. 'Hold The Front Page.'

-x-

'Change the front page.'

Lynda looked up from her desk. 'What?'

Colin checked that nobody else was within whispering distance before drawing up a chair and leaning in to Lynda, earnestly.

'The front page story. You can't run it.'

Lynda began to feel a sinking sensation in her stomach. 'Why not?'

'Lynda,' hissed Colin, 'it's Liz's Skate Park story. She's been working so hard on that right from the beginning. You can't take it away from her, certainly not a front page.'

'Colin, tell me Liz has spoken to you about this…'

'She doesn't need to. I know how much this means to her. She's been desperate to make this story front page for weeks, you know she has. I don't care who it is you got to cover it the past week, just don't run it…'

'It's Liz's scoop.'

Colin sat back. 'Eh?'

'She presented it to me this morning. I told her to speak to you straight away.'

'But…' attempted Colin, 'but it's a huge story. When would she have found the time…?'

'Are my ears burning?' Liz perched on the edge of Lynda's desk, guiltily.

'Liz,' Colin licked his lips, dryly. 'Where's the money?'

'I brought you some cake.'

'I don't want cake. I want the money. Where is it?'

'It'll be there,' reassured Liz.

'Really?' Colin asked, 'It'll all be there for tomorrow's deadline?'

Liz paused for a moment, thrown. 'Lynda's giving me another week in Sales,' she said eventually, 'to make up for the time I spent on the story.'

'A week?!? You've been doing this behind my back for a whole week?' Colin paused. 'The money's not there, is it?'

Liz studied a thumbnail. 'No.'

Colin pushed himself away from the desk suddenly, and stormed into his office without another word.

'But I'm going to get it…' cried Liz after him.

It was too late, though. He had already shut the door behind him.

'Wow.' Lynda blinked at the shut door. 'He actually _flounced_. Well done, Liz – I've never seen him do that before.'

'He's angry, isn't he?'

'Yep.' Lynda got back to her work. 'He doesn't do "angry" very often, but when he does, you know about it.'

Liz stood up, smoothing down her skirt. 'I'm going to need a bigger cake.'

-x-

Liz closed the door to Colin's office behind her, and waited for him to speak. He didn't.

'Listen,' she said, eventually. 'I'm a journalist. It's what I was born to do. And when a big story like that comes up… well, what was I supposed to do…?'

'You were _supposed_ to do what I'd asked you.'

'You didn't _ask_ me to do anything. You and Lynda _told_ me to do something that I didn't want to do and I had no say in it.'

'Well,' Colin told his desk, 'that's what happens at work. People get told by their bosses to do stuff.'

Liz marched over to his desk. 'Don't give me that "work" crap. Don't you dare pretend that you two picked me and Spike to do the dirty work for any reason other than that as your mug boyfriend and girlfriend we'd be less likely to kick up a fuss.'

'I picked the two of you to help me out because I knew you'd be good at it.'

'And I _was_ good at it,' argued Liz, 'I got you loads of money in…'

'But not enough!'

'And I'll get the rest next week! Jesus, what's wrong with that?'

'We've got deadlines for a reason, Liz! You miss one of Lynda's deadlines, your story doesn't get printed – you miss one of mine, the bills don't get paid – worst case scenario, the whole paper folds.'

Liz toyed with a box of slightly out-of-date macaroons on one of his shelves. 'Stop being so melodramatic. The paper's not going to fold.'

'You don't do my job, Liz. You don't know how close to the wind we sail sometimes.'

'You're right! I don't do your job! I'm not supposed to do your job, I've got no interest in doing your job. My interest is in writing good stories and making a difference to the lives of my readers. My interest is in stuff like the Skate Park.'

'Well, mine isn't.' Colin rubbed his face, frustrated. 'My interest is in making sure we all get paid.'

Liz shook her head. 'I can't believe you sometimes. How can you not care about a charity scheme for kids - kids who don't do so well at school, kids who are always in trouble – to do something positive with their skills and their energy, when that's exactly what got _you_ to where you are today?'

'It was _never_ a charity!' Colin stood up from his chair, suddenly enraged, spitting out the dreaded word "charity" as if were poison. 'Never! Not even the first edition! And do you know why?'

Shaken by his sudden furiousity, Liz couldn't answer.

'Because I worked bloody hard to make sure it wasn't. That's why! At 17 when I should have been studying I skipped my classes, I trawled the streets, I spent eighteen-hour days in a glorified warehouse, I called in favours from everyone I knew, I broke school rules and the law about a hundred times, all to make sure we never needed a penny of The C Word to keep us afloat. And when we left school and Kerr threatened to boot us out, I started all over again. And then when the whole thing burned down I started. All. Over. Again. So no, I really don't care that a bunch of yobs the age I was when I was starting this business that pays your rent don't have anywhere to play with their skateboards.'

'Oh, so because it worked out OK for you it means nobody else deserves any help,' replied Liz, matching his raised voice. 'Don't you see that makes you as bad as those snobs at The Willows?'

'Those "snobs" are just looking out for their businesses and their staff.'

'I suppose if you were in that position you'd sign that bloody petition, then?'

'Signed it? I'd have _started_ it!'

'No you wouldn't! You're not like that! You know what, people have been trying to warn me off you for weeks now – saying you're just this shallow guy, all you care about is money and materialism, and I've been telling them that they're all wrong, that you're the kind of guy who really cares about friends that don't understand him, and deeply loves a family that's never there for him… the kind of guy who'd value his girlfriend's big break over a few hundred poxy quid.'

'That "few hundred poxy quid" is the most important thing in this business, Liz.'

'Don't say that… started Lizzie.

'If your front page generates some extra sales, which I doubt it will, it might bring in a few extra bob,' continued Colin, 'but it's a drop in the ocean, and we'd be making a loss. Now _that _is what I call "poxy".'

'You don't mean that!'

'Don't I?' Cried Colin, exasperated, 'well why don't you tell me what I really mean, since you apparently know me so very well…'

Liz turned to go. 'If I'd have known you'd react like this I'd never have done it, you know that, Colin? I don't like you like this at all.'

'Well, prepare to be disappointed, Liz, because this is what I'm like pretty much all the time.' Colin sat back down, bitterly. 'The others were right. You were wrong.'

Liz stalled for a second, trying to quell the rising tide of red hot anger. 'Why are you acting like such a Wanker?'

'Because I _am_ a Wanker.' Colin looked away from Lizzie, pretending to concentrate on his work. 'Live with it. Christ knows I have to.'

Liz snapped, suddenly. One moment there was a chair in her hands, the next there was a terrible crash as the window shattered into pieces, and Colin had dropped beneath the desk instinctively.

'Coward!' screamed Liz, but the rage was already melting into miserable regret. She backed swiftly out of the office and turned to run across the newsroom and out of the front door, without a word to anyone.

The newsroom was left in an awkward silence.

'Man,' said Spike, eventually, 'the walls round here really are thin, huh?'

There was a second long pause, finally broken by Lynda.

'Colin?' she called from her desk.

'…yes…' came a little voice in reply.

'Would you mind shutting the door?' she asked, 'there's a draught.'

-x-

February 3rd

-x-

Colin ignored the phone the first time it rang, and let it go on to answerphone. In a way, he hoped it would be Liz, and in another way, he really, really hoped it wouldn't be. It wasn't Liz. It was Lynda.

'Colin, I know you're there. It's half past eleven, it's deadline day and you'd better be coming into work. Do you hear me? Pick up. Pick up. Pickuppickuppickuppickup. Fine. Don't pick up. See if I care. You'll be in the office ready to work within half an hour, though, or else I'll…' The machine cut her off with a beep.

There was around ten seconds of respite before the phone rang again, and again he ignored it.

'How dare your machine cut me off, Mathews? As I was saying, if you're not here in… well, it's more like twenty nine minutes, now… I'll come to your house and personally drag you to work by the hair. And I'm not talking head hair, either. Are you listening to me? Are you going to pick up the phone? Am I going to have to…' The machine cut her off again.

There was another ten second pause before the phone rang a third time.

'Colin, it's Spike. Lynda hates your machine, so she wants me to talk to it for a change. I think I should warn ya, she's putting on her coat and looking for a hammer.' Spike's voice paused. 'I guess you're feeling pretty blue right now, huh? But, y'know… you're young, you're a professional… there's plenty of fish in the sea… oh God. Oh no, I didn't mean to put it like tha…' The machine beeped again.

Colin waited in the dark silence for the phone to ring again. After a good five minutes had passed without a further disturbance he settled back down under his duvet. The second he did, the phone stared ringing yet again. This time he did pick up.

'Leave me alone.'

'My stupid boyfriend's sorry about the "fish" thing,' said Lynda. 'I take it from your non-appearance this morning that you've split up.'

'I think so,' sighed Colin, 'I haven't spoken to her yet.'

'Well then,' replied Lynda with a forced cheer, 'you never know!'

'Lynda, she threw a chair at me!'

'I threw a typewriter at Spike last August,' retorted Lynda, 'and we were fine.'

'Me and Fish aren't you and Spike, though. We were never going to be.'

'All the same,' said Lynda, 'why don't you talk to her?'

'I've tried. She won't answer the phone.'

'Ah.' Lynda paused. 'That's not a great sign.'

'No.'

'She hasn't been in either,' added Lynda.

'Sometimes she just goes,' said Colin, 'just drops everything and leaves a place if she's sick of it. Maybe she's done that.'

'Let's not jump to the worst conclusion, shall we?'

'I'm finding that hard to do, Lynda.' There was a pause before Colin started speaking again, with his mouth full. 'Before, when I was feeling low or lonely, when yet another girl had turned me down I was able to think sometimes that it was OK because that girl wasn't the right one for me, but I think she was. The only girl who can ever make me happy and I let her get away and that's it. That was my lot. I'm going to live and die alone with nothing but a broken heart, a couple of embarrassing carpet burns and a pressure cooker full of home made jam.'

'Oh my God. You're eating the jam, aren't you?'

'No…' attempted Colin, his mouth still guiltily full.

'Yes you are, Colin! You're lying in bed in the clothes you were wearing yesterday with the curtains drawn feeling sorry for yourself and eating your weight in Relationship Jam.'

'Where are you? You're watching me from outside, aren't you?'

'Honestly, Colin, you're getting paranoid…'

Colin leaned over from his bed, opened his curtains half way and waved sadly at Lynda sitting in the Courier's van outside.

'Oh, all right,' continued Lynda over her mobile phone, 'but I couldn't actually see you so I reckon the jam was a pretty good guess.'

'Damson cheese,' corrected Colin, eating another spoonful straight from the jar.

'Can I have some?'

'It's the only good thing left of my few happy weeks with the only woman I'll ever love. No you can't have some.'

'Did you just say the L word?'

'I did, didn't I?' Colin took another spoonful. 'God, I hate my life.'

'If I help you, can I have some?'

'How can you help me?'

'We'll never know unless you get out of bed, brush your teeth, comb your hair, take the spoon out of your mouth and stop being so bloody pathetic.'

Colin took the spoon out of his mouth 'I suppose you "helping" me involves ferrying me straight to work?'

'Well, we can swing past the sweetie shop first if you really want. Or I'm sure Jim has something illegal that'll cheer you up…'

'…hey…' muttered Jim from the driver's seat.

Colin put down the jam jar and toyed briefly with a prescription bottle by his bed. 'I'll manage without, thanks,' he told Lynda. He left the bottle unopened and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

-x-

Spike sat down in his usual newsdesk seat as though it were the most comfortable chair in the world and removed his tie ceremoniously.

'It's over,' he sighed happily to anybody who would listen. 'Adverts have been sold, money has been made and Spike Thompson is free to be an Ace Reporter yet again.'

'What's this useless lump doing in my new spare chair?' asked Lynda, walking past, 'I've only just had it de-flead from the last filthy foreign troglodyte that used to sit on it… oh, hello Spike, it _is_ you after all. I didn't recognise you there with grown-ups clothes on.'

Spike started fashioning a makeshift bandanna out of his discarded tie. 'I can take 'em off if you like.'

'Please don't,' replied Lynda in a deadpan monotone, 'I don't think I'd be able to contain myself.'

Spike frowned, craning his head around his girlfriend. 'Who's the Blonde?'

'Spike, do you mind? At least have the decency to wait until I'm not sitting right next to you to ogle other women?' Lynda picked up a pair of scissors. 'Now point out who it was you were gawping at so I can stab her.'

'Is that Liz?'

Somebody who looked a lot like Liz Fish, but with longer legs, a bigger bust and long, platinum blonde hair clomped over to Lizzie's desk and kicked off a pair of four inch heels.

'I'm knackered,' she announced in a broad Glaswegian accent.

'Liz? Where've you been?'

Liz sat on the desk, rubbing the life back into her feet. 'Pubs, clubs, restaurants, shops, garages… down the old dockyard…'

Lynda creased her brow in attempt to fathom Liz's logic. 'You fought with your boyfriend and then went out on a 24 hour bender dressed as a high class prostitute?'

'Really?' Liz patted her bouffant blonde locks. 'High Class? You think? Thanks, Lynda. And it worked, too. I got the three grand and then some. Figured I'd owe you guys an extra hundred or so for the window…'

'What?'

Liz started unpinning the blonde wig. 'You know as well as I do it's still a sick, sad misogynistic world out there, Lynda. But if you've got a miniskirt and a pair of evil shoes at your disposal you can make our unfair, phalogocentric society work for you every once in a while.'

'You sold two thousand pounds of adverts in a day?' Asked Spike.

'A day and a night,' corrected Liz, 'and it wasn't me, exactly – it was mainly a visible set of suspenders and The Lovely Elaine's hairpiece that did the selling. Hello, Sir.'

'Fish,' greeted Colin cautiously from the doorway. 'Had your hair done?'

Liz removed the wig and shook her scruffy red bob vaguely back into place.

'I've been making amends with my poor Boss,' she replied. 'He asked me to help out with something and I purposefully didn't do it, and when that made him say things I'd decided I didn't want to hear I took it out on him and an innocent office chair…' she passed him a revenue ledger from her bag. 'How is the chair, by the way?'

'It'll pull through.' He opened the ledger, took a brief look at it and closed it again. 'I read your story.'

'Oh aye? What did you think?'

'Pitting an estranged brother and sister against each other? It's salacious, it's manipulative, it's intrusive…'

Liz smiled, slyly. 'I knew you'd like it.'

'Yeah,' added Colin on a bitter note. 'It's very Me.'

'Erm…' Liz frowned, following Colin into his office. 'Are we still fighting?'

'I didn't think we were fighting. You just don't like me.'

'Ah.' Liz found a shard of glass on the floor and put it in the bin. 'OK, so I won't lie to you, I'm not so keen on that particular aspect of your personality, but I still wouldn't have you go changing for all the Lapsang Souchon in Knightsbridge. As a wise man once said to me, the sooner I learn to deal with the fact I'm dating a demented, obsessive, detested megalomaniac the better…'

'"Megalomaniac"?'

'…and besides,' continued Liz, 'top of my head I can think of loads of stuff I _do_ like about you, like how you never manage to have a matching pair of socks and pronounce words like "bath" with an "F" at the end, so, y'know, it's all swings and roundabouts, really.' She sat on the side of his desk and started toying with the end of his tie.

'"Bath" is supposed to be pronounced like that. When we all start talking Scottish you can pick me up on my diction.' Colin blinked at her unusually large cleavage. 'What happened to those?'

'Oh, yeah.' Lizzie fished inside her bra and retrieved two raw chicken fillets from the cups. 'There you go. Worth their weight in gold.' She slapped the warm poultry into his hand.

'Hmm. Is it wrong that I find that strangely sexy?'

'Sick and wrong, Sir. Let's go and do something unprofessional in the archives cupboard.'

-x-

Lynda opened the door to the archives cupboard with a sly giggle, put her hand over her eyes, and quickly shut it again. She exchanged glances with Spike.

'Leafing through some old issues?' She asked, loudly.

There was a pause from the other side of the door.

'Yes?' said a voice.

'Do I have to show you two the List again?'

'I wonder,' added a second, Scottish voice, 'what it was you and Spike wanted to come in here together for.'

'We got more old issues to leaf through than you do,' replied the American.

'Spike…' hissed Lynda. She leaned in close to the door. 'Blackberry's my favourite. Two jars should be enough.'

'OK,' said the first voice, 'um… could you go now?'

Lynda glanced at Spike as they stepped away. 'What do you reckon, then? Behind the bins for ten minutes?'

'Where else is there? I can't believe they took our spot!' Spike paused. 'What was that about Blackberries?'

'Oh, Colin promised me presents if I helped him get back with Liz.'

'But you didn't help him.'

'Didn't I, Spike?' Lynda smiled, sagely. 'Didn't I?'

'No. Ya didn't do anything!'

'Yes,' conceded Lynda, 'I know. Free jam, though!'

'Truly, you are a God.'

'And don't you forget it.'


	15. Driving Miss Day 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Driving Miss Day

-x-

'Well?' asked Lynda, expectantly.

'Well…?' echoed Spike, feigning ignorance.

Lynda rolled her eyes. '_Well_?'

Spike didn't reply, but frowned in fake confusion.

'Well, where is it, then?'

'Huh?'

'Stop pretending, Thomson. I know you've bought me something hideous. We might as well get it over and done with.'

Spike grinned into his plastic coffee cup. 'No I haven't.'

Lynda retrieved her hand from around his waist. 'What do you mean, "No you haven't"?'

'We agreed, Lynda,' replied Spike, matter-of-factly, 'we weren't gonna get Valentines presents this year.'

'But I bought you a jacket! A nice one!'

'It's a great jacket Lynda. But I thought you weren't gonna get me anything…'

'Why would you think that?' Lynda cried.

'Because you said you wouldn't,' explained Spike patiently. 'Just because you decided to back out of the deal doesn't mean I was automatically going to as well.'

Lynda took a step back from the American, angrily. 'You haven't got me anything, have you? I thought you were supposed to love me.'

'I do.' Spike reached out and gently took his protesting girlfriend by both arms. 'More than the sun…' he planted a kiss on her forehead, '…more than the sea…' he kissed her again, on the tip of her nose, '…more than life itself.' He finished off with a light kiss on her lips. 'And I shouldn't have to buy you some piece of crap that you're gonna hate anyway for you to know that.'

Lynda pulled away from him. 'You bastard!'

She tried to storm out of the staff room but was blocked as Lizzie darted inside, slamming the door shut and throwing her back against it.

'Hey, Liz.' Spike regarded the Scot. She had a hunted expression on her face, like a cartoon rabbit in shooting season. 'Enjoying Valentine's Day?'

'Why…' hissed Liz, tensely, 'for the love of Christ, Buddha and Batman, did nobody warn me?'

'To be fair,' replied Spike with a sympathetic smile, 'we did try.'

'Warn you about what?' asked Lynda.

Liz shrunk down a little against the door, beneath the glass panel. 'It's ten to nine, Lynda. It's only ten to nine in the morning, and I have already been showered in hundreds of pounds worth of the. _Most_. Unspeakable shite!'

The penny dropped. Lynda smirked. 'Don't you like your presents?'

Liz gave Lynda an evil glare. 'I am now the proud owner of a pack of pants with the days of the week on them because _somebody_ suggested he buy me underwear, plastic roses because, in the words of my Beloved, "they'll keep", a wholesale box of "99" Flakes, "because women like chocolate"… don't laugh, Spike, this isn't funny…'

'Go easy on him,' laughed Spike, 'he's not exactly used to romance… we had a feeling he'd go a little bit overboard…'

'"A little bit overboard"?' repeated Liz, incredulously. 'Spike, a few weeks back he made me tinned peach slices and evaporated milk for pudding. I said it was nice. He's bought me a bloody Job Lot of the stuff!'

'He's just over excited,' added Lynda. 'It's his strange, warped way of saying he likes you.'

'A simple card and a bottle of Jack Daniels would have sufficed.'

'At least you _got_ someth…'

Liz held up a finger to silence her. 'You hear that?' she interjected in a paranoid whisper.

'What?' Spike listened. There was the faint sound of distant drums. Slowly, the sound began to grow until a tune became discernable.

'Tell me…' hissed Liz, 'that isn't "Scotland The Brave".'

Spike and Lynda shared a look. Spike was about to answer when Julie rapped on the door.

'Liz?'

Liz covered her eyes. 'I'm not here.'

'There's a Marching Band outside wants to see you.'

'Oh for the love of… can you pretend you couldn't find me?'

'Colin!' Shouted Julie, 'She's in the tea room!'

Liz narrowed her eyes in irritation and stomped off to meet the band outside.

Spike and Lynda looked at each other. 'See? You don't want a day like that, do you?'

'_You_ never got _me_ a Marching Band,' replied Lynda.

'When did you want a Marching Band? What could you possibly do with it?'

'I just think it's a nice gesture, is all.'

'I could get the Features Department to walk up and down the corridor playing kazoos if you like…'

Spike held the door open for Lynda and she walked through without thanks.

'It wouldn't be the same.'

-x-

Lynda sunk down at her desk. There were a few red and pink cards on Julie's desk opposite her, and a single red rose.

'Who are those from?' she tutted.

Julie shrugged, cheerfully. 'Don't know. Secret admirers.'

'Couldn't be bothered to buy you a whole bunch, then?'

Julie sniffed the rose, shooting Lynda a wicked look. 'Where are _your_ flowers?'

'Julie, if you don't want your nether regions to be turned into a temporary vase, I recommend that you drop that subject immediately.'

She looked around the office. Liz was sitting at a desk bedecked with tat and surrounded by scarlet balloons, trying to eat tinned peaches with a Flake. Frazz was flirting on the phone to someone – even Billy was humming. Lynda scowled and rummaged through her In Tray. She pulled out a rolled up issue of UpStart, tied with a red ribbon.

'What…?'

Attached to the ribbon was a gift tag. She read it.

_Page 64. Hope you like it._

_Happy Unmentionably Sickening Day._

_The American. Xxx_

'Is this a joke?' she said out loud. 'A copy of my own newspaper, Thomson? That's my present?'

Spike turned from the spot where he had been lingering, as inconspicuously as possible. 'Just go to page 64, would you?'

'Ugh.' She flicked through the paper. 'It's not a bloody poem, is it? Or another picture of your bottom – I've got plenty of those already.'

'Could be a proposal…' muttered Julie, quietly. Lynda ignored her. She found page 64 – the motoring section. One small advert had been ringed. Lynda blinked at it, then up at Spike.

'Spike…? You're… you're selling your bike? You love your bike!'

'But you hate it. So it's going.'

'Spike,' she said, softly. 'That's so…'

'Touching?' prompted Spike, 'Thoughtful? Romantic?'

'…stupid,' finished Lynda. 'What's the point of getting rid of something just because I hate it? How will you get around?'

'I'm not gonna need the bike any more.' Spike pulled up a chair next to Lynda. 'But I _am_ gonna need the money.'

'Why? What for? Are you planning on making sense at any point today?'

'I've made a decision, Lynda. A very important, manly decision. You and I are going to commit to each other, financially.'

Lynda pressed her lips together and watched him, her mind twirling through a panicked spiral. What did he want them to commit to? Puppy? Holiday? House? _Wedding? BABIES?_ She could feel a prickly sweat forming on the back of her neck.

'You and I are gonna buy a car,' he announced.

'A car? What would I want a car for?'

'Well… for going places. Far off places. Quite fast. Without having to get on a bus.'

'But cars are expensive to maintain. And temperamental. And dangerous.'

Spike beamed. 'So are you.'

'I don't see,' continued Lynda, 'why my present from you should be the opportunity to buy half a car with a man who, up until he was 20 years old, thought the V&A was a DIY Chain.'

'Aw, think about it, Lynda. No more taxis, no more hurrying around in the rain, no more Stinky Jim… why would you _not_ want to get a car with me?'

Lynda sighed. 'Let's talk about this after work, eh?'

'Oh.' Spike's face started crumpling into a frown. 'I get it.'

'No you don't, Spike.'

'It's not about the car. It's about sharing something with me.'

Lynda rubbed her eyes in frustration. 'No it's not. Spike, let's just talk about this…'

'Later. Right.' Spike jumped up to his feet, snatching the paper from her desk. 'Message understood, Boss, loud and clear.'

'Spike…' called Lynda after him, but he had already stormed out. She sank her head into her hands.

'Christmas party all over again…' muttered Julie.

'Right. That's it.' Lynda got up from her desk and went to follow Spike, only to find the doorway blocked by Colin.

'Where's that girl?' Still in Lynda's way, Colin craned his neck around her. 'Fish? Fish! What have you done with her, Lynda?'

Lynda turned back to indicate to Liz's desk. 'Nothing. She's…'

Lizzie had disappeared from her workspace completely - save for her boots, which were still strangely conspicuous beneath the desk.

'Fish?' Colin bent over to try to peer under the desk. 'What are you doing down there?'

'…working…?' lied Lizzie from her hiding place.

Lynda tried to leave again, but Colin grabbed her sleeve.

'Lynda – don't mind if I borrow Liz for a bit, do you?'

'Do what you like.' Lynda wrenched his hand off her cardigan. 'I don't have time for this.'

'I'm busy, Lynda,' interjected Liz from under her desk, 'I can't possibly take any time away from work for the rest of the day…'

'Oh, I think you'll change your tune when you see what it's for.' Colin beamed, proudly. 'Just a little surprise for my very special lady friend in honour of the occasion of this day of romance…'

Liz shot to her feet, sending her surrounding entourage of red balloons, sequins and feathers flying in all directions. 'Oh for God's sake man, would you just give it a bloody rest?'

'What…?'

'No more Valentine's Day Surprises Colin, please! No more presents, no more cards, and definitely no more bloody bagpipes, OK? Or else I am going to seriously lose my temper and do something distinctly Un-Cuddly-Wuddly to my very special gentleman friend in honour of the occasion of this day of complete and utter bollocks!'

The look on Colin's face was as if Liz had just drop-kicked his favourite puppy off the top of a multi-storey car park. 'Don't you like your presents…?'

_Presents_… Lynda blinked, and backed away from the distraction of Colin and Liz. Closing the door on the escalating Scene in the newsroom, Lynda sought out her boyfriend. She found him sitting on the low wall of the staff car park, looking bitterly at his bike.

'It's cold.' She sat down next to him. 'Don't you want to wear your nice new jacket?'

He didn't look back at her. 'Why do we bother, Lynda? Why do we bother ever doing anything nice for each other?'

Lynda shrugged. 'That's just what people do, I suppose. You make a gesture because you want to, not necessarily because you know the other person's going to appreciate it.'

'And where does that get you?' asked Spike. 'Surrounded by plastic roses and tinned peach slices you never wanted in the first place.' He sighed. 'And that's what buying a car with me would be to you, wouldn't it? A tin of peaches – a marching band. That's what moving in with me would be. That's what any kind of proper commitment to the two of us working out would be to you…'

He trailed off. Lynda looked out into the car park with him in silence.

'It has to be red,' she announced eventually, 'and if we split up I get to keep it.'

Spike darted her a quick glance to check that she was being serious before feigning disinterest and gazing forward again. 'Really?'

'I like red.'

Spike slid his hand over hers. 'Awesome. Any preference what kind you wanna get?'

'I just told you already. A red one.' They shared a small grin. 'Are you going to sit out here sulking all day or are you going to do some work for a change?'

Spike stood up and headed back towards the office. 'Happy Valentine's Day, Lynda.'

They found Liz and Colin at the back door. Their discussion seemed to have calmed down considerably since Lynda had left them to it.

'…I just don't like Stuff as much as you do,' Liz explained. 'To be honest, I don't usually do Valentine's Day at all. It's just a cynical invention of the Greeting Cards industry to get us to spend more money on unnecessary tokens of affection.'

Colin frowned, struggling with the concept. 'And that's a… bad thing…?'

Liz laughed. 'Tell you what, Sir – the best Valentine's treat you could give me would be a quiet night with just the two of us and a re-run of what you did for me on Burns Night.'

'I burnt your Tatties and Neeps.'

Liz smirked. 'Damn straight you did…'

'Oh puke,' interrupted Lynda as she pushed through between them, 'get a room, would you?'

'Slight misunderstanding on the Romantic Presents front,' explained Colin, unnecessarily. 'What did you get Lynda in the end, Spike? Did you go with the girdle I suggested?'

'No.'

'Really?' Colin seemed genuinely surprised. 'It _was_ a very nice girdle.'

'We're getting a car,' said Spike, proudly.

'A car?' Colin snorted a small laughed. 'What do you want a car for, Lynda? You can't… Ow!'

Spike frowned at Lynda. 'Can't what?'

'That was my foot!'

'Really?' breezed Lynda, 'You aught to get that looked at, Colin.' She turned to Spike. 'I can't… abide traffic jams. I lose my temper and start swearing at people.'

'So? You do that anyway.'

'I know.'

'You did it when you got a ladder in your tights yesterday.'

'Yes,' hissed Lynda. 'Well, I suppose I'll just have to learn how to count to ten or something.'

'Spike,' attempted Colin, 'Lynda can't…'

'…can't hang around here chatting all day. You're right, Colin – thanks for bringing that up.' She pulled Spike away from Colin. 'Come on, Spike, there's something I need you to see in Archives…'

'Oh… we needed to check on something there first,' called Colin after her.

'Tough.'

'Lynda, would you mind doing me a favour?'

'Yes I would.'

'I'd do it myself,' added Colin, deliberately, 'only my foot hurts.'

Lynda paused and turned warily back to the other couple. Colin flashed her an evil smile. 'Honestly, Lynda. We both know that you can't drrrr…'

He held the "drrr" for just a little too long.

_B__astard!_

'…dream…' continued Colin in a merry tone, 'of refusing your old pal a favour when he has been suddenly and mysteriously incapacitated in the foot department.'

Lynda rolled her eyes. 'What do you want me to do?'

-x-

Lynda opened the door of the van. Six little faces looked up at her.

'Which one of you is Yellow Chaffinch?'

The largest of the six Brownie Guides raised a hand, warily.

'I've got a message for you from…' Lynda wrinkled her nose at the stupidity of her own words. '…from The Magpie. Operation Rouge is a No Go.'

'But we've been practithing for weekth!' lisped a smaller Brownie. 'And what are we thuppothed to do with all the commemorative thpoonth?'

'Sorry, girls,' shrugged Lynda. 'He said to give you this…' she passed "Yellow Chaffinch" an envelope with six ten pound notes inside, 'and that you can keep the costumes. Jim'll take you home now.'

The Brownies all groaned.

'He thmellth,' whispered the lisping Brownie.

'I know he does, kid.' Lynda shut the door on them again and started traipsing back to the office.

'What the Hell was all that about?' asked Spike as he fell into step with her.

'Don't know,' replied Lynda, 'don't want to know.'

'Not like you to go out of your way like that for one of Colin's Schemes.'

Lynda said nothing.

'Lynda…?' enquired Spike, tentatively, 'when you said you didn't want to get a car at first… you _can_ drive, can't you?'

Lynda crossed her arms. 'Of course I can.'

'So you _did_ really pass that test you took.'

'Yes.'

'You didn't just pretend you had because otherwise everybody would know you'd failed at something?'

'Of course not!'

'…only I don't remember ever seeing your driver's licence. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen you behind the wheel of a…'

'Spike! Of course I can drive. What sort of person would I be if I didn't know how to drive? You're boring me now. Shut up.'

'So where's your driver's licence then…'

Lynda grabbed him by his lapels and silenced him with a long, passionate kiss.

_Ah Geez,_ thought Spike as he reciprocated, _she can't drive at all, can she?_


	16. Driving Miss Day 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Driving Miss Day

-x-

Two

-x-

'Well?'

'It's, er…' Julie surveyed the ancient Ford Granada in front of her. 'It's very… Lynda.'

'Nice and red, isn't it?' enthused Lynda.

Frazz scratched his head. 'What happened to that "Sporty little hatchback", Spike?'

'There wasn't one we could agree on,' Spike replied, blowing his streaming nose.

'Oh.' Frazz smirked slightly. 'So there weren't any that Lynda liked, in other words.'

'Hey,' objected the American, 'I'll have you know this car was a great deal.'

'It'd have to be,' retorted Frazz.

Lynda popped open the boot with an uncharacteristic girlish excitement. 'Look how much boot space it's got!'

'Pretty handy,' smiled Julie. 'You'll be able to keep what… two – three bodies in there?'

'Three and a half if I chop them up,' Lynda replied.

'So how does she handle?' asked the Blonde.

'Looks to be all right,' said Lynda.

'"Looks"?' Frazz reiterated. 'I'd have thought you'd be the first to want to take your new car for a spin, Lynda.'

'Lynda has yet to get behind Bertha's steering wheel,' Spike explained.

Julie giggled. 'Bertha…?'

'After my Great Aunt,' snuffled Spike. 'They're both old, with a big behind, and go like the clappers. And I'm sure Lynda just can't wait to handle her herself.'

'I don't want to handle your Great Aunt…'

'I mean, the car.' Spike scrutinised Lynda's expression for a flicker of weakness. 'Tell you what, since I'm feelin' like crud, you can drive her home.'

Lynda didn't meet his eye. 'I can't.'

'Oh no?'

Lynda met her boyfriend with a bright smile. 'I'm not insured yet.'

Spike narrowed his flu-reddened eyes slightly. 'I'll get you the number.'

Lynda nodded, curtly. 'Smashing.'

-x-

Without lifting her head from under the duvet, Lynda groped around on her bedside table for her alarm clock and switched it off. Her hand disappeared back under the warm bedclothes.

'We should probably get up,' she announced at length.

'I already am u…'

'Spike,' she interrupted, 'it's far too early in the morning for cheesy double-entenres.'

'That was a single-entendre,' replied the muffled American voice beneath the duvet, 'and it's never too early. C'mon. We've still got a few minutes. Let me send a very personal memo to your inbox.'

'You'll make us late.'

'We got Bertha.'

'You'll give me your cold.'

'You've probably already got it by now.'

There was a pause. 'All right then. But stop calling it my "Inbox".'

'Why? You only ever let me rummage through it when you want something out of it and you never tidy it.'

'Do I have to give you disciplinary action?'

'Yes please!'

-x-

'Shitshitshitshitshit!' Lynda ran into the kitchen, buttoning up her shirt as she went. 'Why didn't you tell me it was so late?'

Spike slurped at a hot Lemsip. 'And ruin your shower? I didn't have the heart.'

'Come on!' Lynda threw the car keys at Spike. 'We need to go!'

'Listen.' Spike finished his drink and got to his feet. 'Can you drive this morning?'

'No!' Lynda protested. 'You made us late. Why can't you drive?'

'I'm on a lot of medicine for this Flu…'

…sniffle…' corrected Lynda.

'It's really not a good idea, Lynda. I'm dosed up to the eyeballs. You _are _insured, aren't you?'

'yes…' replied Lynda in a small, unconvincing voice.

'And you _can_ drive?'

'…yes.'

'She's your car too.' Spike pressed the keys into Lynda's hand. 'Isn't it about time you enjoyed driving her?'

Lynda looked from the keys to Spike. 'Right then. Let's go.'

-x-

Lynda blinked, controlled her breathing, put the handbrake on and switched off the engine. She sat back in the driver's seat, folding her arms and pursing her lips, not once meeting the long, silent gaze of her passenger.

'Tell me the truth,' said Spike, eventually, 'you can't drive, can you?'

Her lip still bitten down, she turned her head to look out of the driver's window.

'I asked Colin,' Spike added. 'Apparently he found out when he tried to get you insured on one of the Junior Gazette's pool cars...'

'I'm quite aware of how he found out,' snapped Lynda. She fell into another sulking silence. 'All right, so I can't drive. So I failed my test with flying colours and haven't sat behind a steering wheel since. So that's the real reason why I said I didn't want to go halves on a car with you. Satisfied?'

'I'm just amazed you'd rather try to drive a car into rush hour traffic without a licence than admit you'd failed at something.'

Lynda finally looked at Spike. 'You're not really _amazed_, are you?'

'Nah,' Spike sighed, 'actually I thought this was pretty typical of you – I just thought saying otherwise would make you feel better.'

'How could I feel better? I've just spent hundreds of pounds on a new car that I can't drive.'

Spike cracked his knuckles, decidedly. 'I am gonna teach you how to drive this car, Lynda Day.'

'No you're not.'

'Why not?'

'Spike, in the four months I spent taking driving lessons I got through six instructors. Two of them left driving tuition for good.'

'But none of those instructors was Spike Thomson,' reasoned Spike, confidently.

'Even my Mum tried for a bit,' continued Lynda, 'after a couple of lessons she suddenly had to spend every moment we could have spent on the road wading through her divorce paperwork. She said she found it less stressful.'

'Nope, it's no good.' He leaned into her. 'You're only making me more determined, you know that?'

'You're sure you can handle me?'

'Every step of the way.'

Lynda paused, then conceded with a small smile. 'You're on. What's the first thing we need to do, d'you reckon?'

'Well…' Spike blew his nose. 'First thing is, I guess we'd better get the car offa this traffic island and back onto the roundabout before the cops see us.'

Lynda nodded. 'That's why you're the teacher, I suppose.'

-x-

Spike gripped the dashboard for dear life. 'OK… d'ya wanna pull over?'

'Not particularly.'

'Pull over, Lynda!'

'I've only just pulled out…'

'Pulloverpulloverpulloverpulloverpu…'

Lynda clumsily pulled the car over to the kerb and stopped it. 'What did I do wrong _this_ time? I remembered "Mirror, Signal, Manoeuvre", didn't I?'

'Yeah,' replied Spike, shakily, 'But you're supposed to look in the mirror to see if people are coming.'

'I did!'

'And when you do see traffic approaching, you're generally supposed to let them pass before you pull out.'

'The last time I looked,' retorted Lynda, 'shopping scooters weren't classed as "Traffic".'

'That doesn't mean you should try to mow them down!' Spike replied, tensely.

'I signalled.'

'Yes, once with the wrong indicator and once with a gesture that I don't think is included in the Highway Code.' Spike sighed, his nervous trembling finally dying down. 'Maybe we should call it a day.'

Lynda slapped the steering wheel. 'I knew it! You're giving up on me already.'

'I am not giving up on you. I'm just… I need a break. That's all. Maybe we can try again tomorrow.'

'You _are_ giving up on me.'

Spike rubbed his itching eyes. 'Lynda, please. I still feel like death warmed up, I've got a stack of work to do…'

'Don't insult my intelligence by making up excuses, Thomson.'

'OK,' snapped Spike, 'so right about now I'm about three seconds away from strangling you.'

Lynda stared at Spike, appalled.

'Fair's fair,' he continued in a softer tone, 'you _have _tried to kill us both around ten times so far this morning.'

'Only eight,' corrected Lynda. She regarded her red-eyed tutor as he blew his nose for the umpteenth time and downed another few mouthfuls of orange juice. 'Go home, Spike. Get some sleep.'

Spike snorted back some phlegm. 'I'm fine.'

Lynda gazed at him, critically. 'Don't flatter yourself to think the newsroom can't cope without you for a couple of days. You're only going to give your filthy foreign diseases to everybody else in the office if you stay. And for the record, I could do with a break from sitting in a car with you, too. You're not exactly the best instructor in the world, you know – gripping the seat so your knuckles turn white before your student's even so much as released the handbrake hardly fills her with confidence.'

'You're just saying that because you don't want me to give up my day job.'

Lynda reached across to him and pushed her fingers through his hair. 'I wouldn't have the heart to inflict you upon anybody else.'

Spike leaned in close to her. 'You're a Saint.'

Their lips locked in a long and only slightly snotty kiss.

'That's an interesting teaching method, Spike.'

The sudden voice, from right behind them, made them both leap, yelping, out of the kiss.

Colin grinned at them from the middle of the back seat.

'What are you doing here?' hissed Lynda.

'Your back door was unlocked. You might want to look into that. How are the lessons going?'

Spike drew breath to answer but Colin didn't pause for a reply.

'Terrific. Listen, I need a lift to school.' He sat back in the seat, buckling himself in.

'Colin, you've got exactly three seconds to get out of my car before I…' Lynda trailed off, frowning. 'School? Have we slipped back in time three years?'

'You'd think so.' Colin's forced smile remained stubbornly fixed on his face. 'I've been called to the Headmaster's Office.'

Spike snuffled. 'I thought you two had hounded him outta town.'

'Not Winters.' Colin started drawing clouds in the condensation on the back window. 'I don't think we could hound the new Headmaster out of Norbridge High if we tried.'

'We _did_ try,' smiled Lynda faintly, switching on the ignition. 'For years. Didn't even phase him.'

'Lynda…' Spike eyed Lynda nervously as she put the car into gear. 'You are _not _gonna drive this thing to…'

Without warning or indication, Lynda swung the car out into the road.

-x-

Sullivan parted the blinds of his office slightly at the commotion and saw the three youngsters spill noisily out of a red car not so much "parked" as "stopped diagonally across two parking bays".

'Oh, you have to be joking,' he muttered grimly to himself. He sat down behind his desk and waited. Despite himself, he found himself smiling wistfully at the memories that their bickering voices conjured up. He had hoped that Mrs Mathews would have been available to talk to rather than resorting to her son, and he'd certainly hoped that Colin wouldn't drag any other former pupils along with him, especially Spike and Lynda… and yet, somehow, he had also really hoped that they _would_ come. There had been something so… Unique about the Chaos they had brought to his school. He hated to admit it, but he rather missed it.

There was a knock at his door. 'Come.'

Even though it was Colin he had called, Lynda still entered the office first and sat down in the middle on the other side of his desk, flanked by Spike and Colin.

'Well,' said Sullivan eventually, 'this takes me back. I wasn't expecting all three of you… I do have to warn you though, I'm not a married man and my current Lady friend has never so much as set foot in here, if you came in looking for another Scoop.'

An awkward pause fell. Only Lynda retained eye contact with him, her poker face steady as a rock. 'Have these chairs shrunk?'

Sullivan conceded with a small smile, which he hoped still managed to mask any hint of admiration. 'It's not the chairs that've got smaller, it's you that got bigger.'

'See,' quipped a phlegmmy Spike, 'I keep tellin' her she's gotta lose weight.'

Sullivan turned to Colin. 'I was hoping your Mum would be coming in.'

'I tried her,' replied Colin, vaguely, 'I think she must be away. It's all right, I'll deal with it.'

Sullivan paused. This needed to be done with a responsible adult – he'd never even attempted associating those words with Colin Mathews before. But then Colin wasn't a schoolkid any more. He seemed to have created himself an actual _career_, and a perfectly legal, above-the-board one at that. With an absent mother, a father who didn't bear thinking about and a notoriously shifty extended family, perhaps Katie's twenty-one year old brother really _was_ the most responsible adult in her life. Sullivan found that concept horribly depressing. He cleared his throat.

'Katie's suspended from school for a week.'

'What?' Colin cried, appalled. 'Why?'

'She attacked another girl at morning break.'

'"Attacked"?' Colin frowned. 'What, she… called the other girl names, something like that?'

'No, Colin. She hit her. There was quite a scuffle as I understand.'

'Fighting…?' Colin seemed to be having trouble getting to grips with the concept. 'Katie's been _fighting_? She… there has to be some misunderstanding. She'll have been defending herself.'

'I know it's not like her,' signed Sullivan, 'but as far as I can tell it was Katie who was the aggressor, and we take that sort of behaviour very seriously here.'

'My sister is not a violent person…' started Colin.

'I understand your concern,' interjected Sullivan, 'in fact, I'm very glad somebody else is so worried about her, but a fact is a fact.'

'But why? What made her want to do something so bloody stupid?'

'You're going to have to ask her that yourself, I'm afraid.'

The door to the office swung open, framing a short, dark teenaged girl with unfortunately inherited eyebrows.

'Oh God,' she sighed. 'I might've known it. And he's brought Freddie and Daphne – fantastic.'

Spike and Lynda exchanged glances.

'Is she talking about us?' Lynda asked.

Spike looked across at the young girl, still slouching belligerently in the doorway in the manner only frustrated teenagers could perfect. 'C'mon then, Scrappy. I guess you've earned yourself a trip in the Mystery Machine.'

Colin got to his feet and grasped his little sister by the arm. 'You're not getting me in that car again. We're walking.'

'What?' Katie whined, 'but it's raining!'

'A bit of drizzle won't kill you, Katrina Mathews.' Colin pushed her out of the door. 'Being Lynda Day's passenger might.'

Lynda and Spike got out of their seats a little more leisurely.

'There's gratitude…' muttered Lynda to herself as she rose.

Spike held out a friendly hand to Sullivan. 'Nice to see you again, Mr Sullivan.'

Sullivan shook the young man's hand. 'And you. Lynda…' He extended his hand to Lynda, which she accepted. 'Is it true? Are they actually letting you drive a car now?'

'Sure.' Spike slipped his hands into his pockets. 'I'm teaching her.' He frowned. 'You can stop laughing now.'

-x-

Liz watched Lynda enter the newsroom and sit at her desk. The Editor was alone and ominously calm.

'All right, Lynda?' she called from the safety of her desk.

Lynda glanced up, blankly. 'Hmm? Oh. Yes. Fine.'

'How did the lesson go?'

'OK.'

'Huh.' Liz paused, her curiosity over Spike's absence battling with her sense that pointing out any potential fight they might have had may not end well for her. Eventually, nosiness won out over cowardice. 'Spike not in?'

'He's sick,' replied Lynda briskly, her attention slipping back to her work. 'I took him home.'

'Oh.' Lizzie went back to her computer.

Lynda looked up again. 'Colin in yet?'

'About five minutes ago. He had his sister with him. I think she's in trouble.' Lizzie pointed at the door to Colin's office, on which had been stuck a sign reading "PRIVATE. No Entry – No Distractions – DEFINITELY NO BISCUITS."

Lynda sucked through her teeth. 'No biscuits, eh? That's pretty harsh.'

'Well,' sighed Liz, 'as fond as I am of him, he has been known to go a little overboard from time to time…'

Colin stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind him. Lizzie and Lynda both watched him as he leaned against the wall by Lynda's desk, grasping at his hair in frustration.

He caught Lizzie's eye. 'You know me, Fish,' he said in a strained voice, 'I'm not one to exaggerate…'

Lynda rolled her eyes at Liz.

'…but I can honestly say,' he continued, 'nobody in the world has _ever_ been as… as _betrayed_ as Yours Truly right now.'

'Ach, come on, now.' Liz got up from her desk and walked over to him. 'Remember what I said about getting Perspective? How many times were _you_ suspended from school again, Sir?'

'Twice,' helped Lynda without looking up.

'That was different,' sulked Colin. 'I was just… bending the rules a little bit… they're supposed to be bent! But this? Fighting – no… beating some other kid up. She's supposed to be a Mathews – we talk our way _out_ of trouble, we don't start it.'

'You _are_ Trouble.' She linked arms with him. 'Come on – you know the drill. Off to somewhere quiet to talk about this and I'll see what I can do about it.'

'No.' He pulled his arm out of hers. 'Not my family, OK? Not that can of words.'

'Worms,' corrected Lynda again.

'Well, there's no need to be insulting!' exclaimed Colin.

'Let me speak to Katie,' soothed Liz, 'girl to girl…'

'Please don't, Liz.' Colin started backing away from her. 'I'll deal with it. I need a coffee.'

With that, he was gone. Liz buried her head in her hands. 'Bugger! Bugger bugger shit shit shit…'

'You're not missing much,' muttered Lynda by way of condolence, 'from my limited contact with Colin's family I've gathered that they actually manage to be _worse_ than him.'

'Bugger, bugger,' continued Liz under her breath, 'not that, not again. It's too soon, too soon…'

'Seriously. Don't let it eat you up. You've got a 500 word piece to finish.' She indicated with her pen towards Lizzie's desk.

'It's not that,' sighed Liz. 'It's just… he can be a right Arse, can't he?'

'Only all the time.'

'It's a bad sign.'

Lynda looked over her shoulder at her. 'What is?'

Liz crouched down next to Lynda's chair. 'You ever been so wound up by someone you just want to throttle them, but still care about them so much you'll do anything for them? Even stuff you know is a really bad idea?'

Lynda blinked. 'I think I can relate to that.'

'It's not good,' Liz told herself, wandering back to her desk, 'not good at all.'

-x-

Spike sat up from his doze, groggily. Something didn't feel right. He held his breath. There was a faint "Thud" from beyond his closed bedroom door. His heart began to race. He wasn't alone. Somebody had broken in. He searched for a weapon and found nothing but a pair of nail scissors. Cursing beneath his breath, he opened the up and clutched them, blades out. He pressed himself against the wall by his bedroom door, breathing as lightly as possible, waiting to hear another sound. There were soft footsteps in the hall, gradually getting louder, coming ever closer to him. He heard them stop outside the door. Terror flooded his body with adrenaline. With a loud cry he hurled himself through the door, his unimpressive weapon raised.

Lynda leapt back suddenly. 'It's me, Spike! It's me!'

Spike froze, then gasped, laying a hand over his hammering heart. 'Jesus, Lynda, you scared the life outta me! Did you break in to my apartment?'

'Maybe just a little. You left your kitchen window open.'

'I have a doorbell, you know.'

'I didn't want to wake you up,' replied Lynda, innocently. 'You should really get a key cut for me or something.'

Spike silently counted to ten. 'I did. It ruined a perfectly good office party, remember?'

'Oh, that was months ago.'

Spike rubbed his eyes with a trembling hand. 'Is that why you broke in? To tell me that?'

'No…' Lynda wandered through into his room and perched on his bed. 'It was something Liz said today. Something about… wanting to throttle somebody at the same time that you'll do something really stupid for them.' She paused. 'Something stupid like getting into a car with someone who drives like a maniac.'

Spike shrugged. 'Hey. I already got into a relationship with someone who _lives_ like a maniac. I figured "what the Heck, same difference".'

'I'm not exactly a model student though, am I?'

Spike snorted a laugh and shook his head.

'So I've decided to let you off the hook,' continued Lynda. 'I'll start getting professional driving lessons again.'

'Well, whoever said I _wanted_ to be let off the hook?' Spike sat on the bed next to her. 'If my life wasn't full of women driving me onto traffic islands and breaking into my kitchen I'd just get bored.'

'But what if I crash the car and kill you?'

'What if I get hit by a bus tomorrow morning? What if this damn flu kills me?'

'It's only a sniffle.'

Spike fell into a coughing fit and started crawling back into his bed. 'You're not getting out of learning to drive that easy, Lynda. And I'm not gonna quit. I'm gonna get you driving Bertha if it's…' Spike closed his eyes, drowsily, '…if it's the last thing I do.'

'It might well be.'

Spike didn't answer but smiled with closed eyes. Lynda looked down at a thumbnail.

'Are you going to propose to me again, Thomson?'

'I never proposed to you,' Spike muttered.

'Because you never know, I wouldn't necessarily say "no". I'd certainly think about it next time.'

'I never proposed to you,' repeated Spike.

'Hmm,' replied Lynda, unconvinced. She ran her fingernails gently through his hair.

'S'nice,' mumbled Spike. 'Stay?'

'Course I will.' Lynda rooted through her handbag and pulled out a small, slim book. 'I even brought some Bedtime Reading. It's called "The Highway Code". It's a Bestseller, apparently.'

'Aw,' sighed Spike, 'I already read that. Turns out the Zebra Crossing did it.'

'Don't ruin it for me,' smiled Lynda, 'I haven't read it yet. Now then…'

She settled herself next to him on his bed and linked fingers with him as he started falling asleep. This was Bliss – such complete Bliss. She opened the book. '…Once upon a time, there was a government department called the DVLA…'


	17. Another Fine Mess 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Another Fine Mess

-x-

'Hello, Katie.'

Katie Mathews scowled up from her work.

'Thought no one was supposed to speak to me.'

Liz leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms. 'Big Brothers, eh?'

Katie just frowned.

'Think you've got it bad?' Liz continued, 'I've got two of the buggers.'

Katie still didn't reply, but went back to her work.

I know what you're trying to do,' muttered Katie.

'Oh really?'

'Yeah. You're my Loser brother's Loser girlfriend, intcha?'

'So he's told you about me…'

'After twenty one years he's finally got himself a bird that doesn't want to puke all over him. He's crowing it from the bleedin' rooftops.' Katie looked up and cast a critical eye over Lizzie. 'Didn't mention you looked like such a Lezzer, though.'

Liz nodded to herself. 'Well, as a big KD Lang fan I'll take that as a compliment.'

'Didn't mean it as a…'

'Too late!' Liz merrily drew up a chair next to Katie. 'Compliment accepted – no comebacks.'

'Doesn't matter,' replied Katie, 'I'm still not going to talk to you. I know what you think you're playing at and it won't work.'

'And what game is it that I'm playing at, Katie?'

Katie snorted, contemptuously. 'He wants to know why I got into a fight, only I won't tell him, so he reckons he can get his Clever-Clever girlfriend to talk me into spilling and then report it all back to him. Well it's not going to happen, all right? Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a thousand word essay on why violence is never the answer to finish…'

'You're wrong, Katie.'

'Excuse me?' snapped the teenager.

'He doesn't know I'm here,' replied Liz, 'in fact we're all under strict instructions not to distract you – me especially.'

'So why don't you sod off?'

'He doesn't just "want to know" why you were fighting out of sheer curiosity,' continued Liz, 'he worries about you. And I worry about him. So I guess that makes you my concern by proxy. I just felt you could probably find it useful to talk this thing through instead of bottling it all up…'

'I don't need you to worry about me – neither of you.' Katie frowned down at her work. 'You're not my bloody parents.'

'I don't see your parents about right now, Katie – do you?'

Katie shot Liz a furious glare. 'Screw you. You don't know the first thing about our family. How dare you? Nosy Bitch.'

Liz paled, falling silent. Katie continued to hold her gaze, although her eyes were beginning to darken with angry tears.

'I'm sorry,' Liz managed at long last.

'So you should be,' whispered Katie. She sniffed, and a couple of droplets of salt water managed to escape from her eyes. 'It's not fair,' she added in a sob. 'It's not fair and that's what makes me so bloody angry. It's a mess, that's what it is – a mess! I don't know what to do to make it right.'

'Put what right?' asked Liz, quietly.

'All of it!' Katie tried to wipe her eyes but they were streaming now. 'Sullivan's a tit – I begged him not to tell Colin. I _knew_ he'd take it the wrong way… just 'cause _he's_ never belted anyone, just cause he's never been in that situation. He gets to people differently, see? Someone pisses him off, he gets his own back by making a mug out of them but I can't do that. He doesn't understand…' she trailed off. 'And now he hates me.'

'He doesn't understand, you're right about that. But he doesn't hate you.'

'He does,' sniffed Katie.

'Katie, there's still a lot of things about your brother that remain a mystery to me, but one thing I do know about him is how much he cares about you.'

'Want to bet?' Katie scowled again. 'The only reason I haven't told him who it was I was fighting with is because I know if I did he'd take her side over mine.'

'I'm sure that's not true…' attempted Liz.

'It is,' interrupted Katie.

'Who was it, then?'

'I'm not telling _you_,' Katie snarled.

'Katie. I won't tell Colin. I promise.'

'I'm not telling you,' added Katie, 'because if I did you'd probably want to beat the bitch up yourself.'

Liz bit her lip, trying to retain her cool in the face of the girl's loaded comments. 'Seriously Hen, tell me. What's going on here?'

Katie shook her head.

'I know you really want to tell me, Katie. Otherwise you wouldn't keep dropping little hints.'

Still Katie didn't answer, but screwed her mouth up into a tight knot.

'You did what you did to protect him somehow, didn't you?' Liz continued, watching the other girl, 'that's why you're so upset that it got him mad at you – after all you did for him. But you haven't told him any of this… why? To spare his feelings?'

Katie looked down at her hands. 'Promise you won't tell him?'

'Promise. It won't leave this room.'

'What do you know about Cindy Watkins?'

Liz shook her head. 'Nothing. Why? Who is she?'

Katie looked across at Liz. 'She's a bitch. And a liar. And I hate her. And so should you.'

-x-

There he was again – standing on the precipice, with no idea why he'd put himself there or what the Hell to do about it. Like a man hypnotised into walking to a cliff edge. Like suddenly finding oneself standing in front of a maniac with a loaded gun.

'I beg your pardon…?' smiled Simon Grossman. It was a smile that Colin was all too familiar with – a Shark Smile, a Salesman Smile, a smile which, when coupled with an "I beg your pardon" meant "I'm perfectly aware of exactly what it is that you said, but I need you to repeat it to give me enough time to think up the perfect comeback". It was a smile that Colin himself had smiled many times. If anything, it made him hate being on the receiving end of it all the more.

'I just mentioned,' Colin smiled back, equally shallowly, 'that school must have broken up early. It _is_ still term time, isn't it?'

'It's Friday afternoon, Col,' grinned Simon. 'Knock-off early day. Nobody with a Social Life worth talking about works Friday afternoons…' Grossman trailed off with a deliberate glance at the files in Colin's hands.

'Half day Fridays, eh?' continued Colin, 'Norbridge High's certainly changed a lot since my day, then…'

'Don't tell me you're here canvassing,' interrupted Simon. 'I thought this newsletter of yours or whatever was a bit too Highbrow for the likes of The Stars.'

'Yeah, well… Money's Money,' lied Colin. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure why he had gone into The Six Stars. The pub certainly had a bad reputation – not only for fights and under age drinking but the Landlord's cheques were usually bouncier than a Page 3 girl eating trifle on a trampoline – which was Colin's main reason for giving it a wide berth when touting for business. But here he was, standing between Simon Grossman's entourage and the bar. It couldn't possibly have been that he had chanced to see Grossman ushering Cindy Watkins into The Stars at half past two on a school day and gone in after them to give that slimebucket a piece of his mind. Because that would have been really, really bloody stupid. At yet he was still there, and his feet didn't seem to want to find the exit.

'Leave it, Si.'

That was Cindy – her tone not commanding, but pleading. Colin glanced at her briefly, then looked away. She was a mess, poor kid. Still in her short school skirt and shoes, she had obviously stuffed her shirt and tie into her bag and shivered in a little halterneck top. Thick foundation and mascara completely obscured her natural features.

Grossman gave a contemptuous snort. 'Just a friendly chat between us lads, Babes. No need to fret.' He lowered his voice and leaned in to Colin. 'Why don't you make tracks eh, Col? You're upsetting the Lady.'

'"Lady…"' repeated Colin under his breath. 'She's a schoolgirl.'

'Oh come off it Col, mate,' continued Simon in a louder, friendlier tone. 'Fifteen going on fifty, is my little Cindy. Like there's anything school's got left to teach her. Maybe that's why all those other silly little school "mates" of hers are so jealous.' He paused a little, for effect. 'You know she's bullied something rotten there…?'

'Stop it, Si' piped Cindy, nervously.

Grossman ignored her. 'Name calling,' he continued, 'vicious rumours, hitting… but then you know what teenage girls are like don't you, Col?'

The adrenaline was racing through Colin's body – that old Fight or Flight instinct. But he wasn't running. He didn't know why, but he couldn't escape. He didn't _want_ to escape. He cocked his head back in order to look the man who stood a head higher than him in the eyes. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Your "friends"…' smiled Grossman. 'You've always very much been Down With The Kids, haven't you?'

'Are you talking about my staff…? Listen, I'm not afraid of hiring bright girls just because they're young, but that certainly doesn't mean…'

Grossman put an arm around Colin's shoulder. 'Don't get me wrong, mate. We're both men of the world, we both like a girl in uniform, if you know what I'm saying…'

Colin pushed Grossman's arm away suddenly. In his outrage he felt his fists bunch, but then he caught the expectant look on Simon's face. He stopped himself – pulled himself away from the edge. This was what Grossman wanted. He was bigger than Colin, and handier, with several friends to hand and apparently something to prove. Colin was alone, armed only with a pile of paperwork and had never so much as thrown a punch before in his life. He always talked his way out of trouble. That was what a Mathews did. That's what separated him from the pondlife.

With difficulty, he turned, and started walking towards the door. 'I don't have time for this.'

'What's the name of that Saturday Girl of yours…?' Grossman called after him. 'Toni, is it? Tell me, do you still call her "Tiddler"?' He gave a short, lascivious laugh. 'Or has she outgrown that?'

Despite himself, Colin stopped.

'_Simon!_' protested Cindy.

'I tell you what, Colin,' added Grossman, 'if you're done with her you couldn't put in a good word for me, would yer?'

Colin shot another look at Cindy, her cheeks flushed with humiliation. 'He's quite a catch, Cindy,' he said, flatly. 'Take care of yourself, eh?'

He began walking towards the door again, and reached for the handle.

'Your sister's looking very well these days,' said Simon, innocently. 'How old is little Katie now…?'

Colin turned, swiftly. He was vaguely aware that he could smell blood, and that there was something in his hand. That was when everything turned white.

-x-

'Well.' Lynda sat down. 'This is a first.'

There was a brief, bitter pause.

'Not that it's never crossed my mind that some day I would actually have to get you out of Police custody…' she added.

'You didn't tell Liz?' responded Colin, flatly.

'As far as she knows, you're still out working.' She stared at Colin, telling herself that his injuries probably looked worse in the harsh lights of the Police Station's holding cell than they really were. It didn't help that he hadn't even bothered wiping the dirt from the grazes on his temple and cheek. She retrieved a tissue from her sleeve and spat on it. 'You'll have to invent an explanation for what happened to your face, though.'

She tried to wipe Colin's split lip with the spitty tissue, but he batted her hand away.

'I'm going to take you up to hospital,' she announced. 'That lip could need a couple of stitches.'

Colin shook his head, distrustfully, but added 'So they say I can go, then?'

'You're lucky,' replied Lynda, 'neither Simon Grossman nor the Landlord of The Stars are going to press charges. I suppose neither of them particularly want any legal experts delving too deeply into their affairs.'

'Grossman came out of it a lot better than I did.'

'You still hit him first.' Lynda took a long, sad look at Colin. He stared back at her with blackened eyes.

'Go on, then,' he sighed.

'Go on, what?'

'Call me a Hypocrite. I know you're dying to.'

Lynda shifted back a little, still regarding him. 'And why should I do that?'

'Come off it, Lynda. Less than a week ago I was furious at Katie for getting into a fight, and now here I am…' he trailed off.

'So you're a Hypocrite,' conceded Lynda, 'but that's hardly news to either of us, is it? I've known you for nearly a decade now and you've always been a Hypocrite and a liar.'

'…never knew you cared…'

'You've also always been sneaky, devious, deceptive, unsympathetic…' Lynda continued over him, 'a cowardly, greedy, libidinous, self-interested weasel of a man completely lacking in taste, tact or decency, with all the moral fibre and social grace of a tapeworm…'

'All right, Lynda!' protested Colin. 'I get your point. My God, remind me never to call you as a Character Witness.'

'I know you, Colin Mathews. I know what you're like. And I know that for all your many, many faults, one thing you are not is a Thug. You've always hated violence – that's why you got so upset about Katie. From the state of you right now I'd guess that you've never even been in a fist fight before this afternoon.' Lynda paused. 'So, why did you do it?'

'I don't know.'

Lynda arched an eyebrow. 'I think we both do. Grossman's the car salesman, isn't he? The sleazebag boyfriend of a certain Miss Watkins.'

Colin paused, darting his eyes away. 'It's not as simple as all that…'

'I know that Cindy was there, Colin.' Lynda's tone began to fizz with frustration. 'I know that this was about her. Do you have any idea how that looks? The Financial Director of a Youth Publication in a bar room brawl over an underage girl?'

'Actually, it was a few underage girls…' muttered Colin under his breath.

'I need you to start taking this seriously, Mathews.'

'You think I'm not?' Colin snapped back. 'I don't think this police cell is serious, do I?' He indicated to his bruise covered face. 'I don't think all this is serious? All right, so you do know why I did what I did. You're the only other person who knows the whole story about Cindy so I need _you_ to understand…'

'You don't know the whole story, Colin.'

'What? What "whole story"?'

Lynda softened her voice again. 'Tiddler mentioned something about her at New Year. I'll admit, I didn't chase it up and I pretty much forgot about it until today. I've just come off the phone with her now. It was a very enlightening conversation.'

'What's Tiddler got to do with anything?'

Lynda stalled. 'Did you ever know anything about Cindy keeping a diary?'

Colin shook his head, frowning. 'Lots of young girls write diaries.'

'Last year,' sighed Lynda, 'around the time we ran the Winters story, Cindy went through a phase of bringing diaries from when she was younger in to school with her, and leaving them around for people to find.'

'Oh.' Colin scratched a fingernail on the soft cement of the cell wall. 'You mean, from back when her Dad was mucking around with her?'

'Around that time, yes.'

'So then everyone knows now.'

'No.' Lynda paused. 'Tiddler had no idea about that. It seems that instead of writing down what really happened to her, Cindy wrote down… different events. She created fantasies and wrote them as if they were real.'

'Well, can you blame her?'

'She wrote about you, Colin.' Lynda watched for his reaction. 'She was pretty obsessed with you, remember?'

'Telling Malcolm Bullivant's gang I was her brother?' Colin snorted a short laugh at the memory. 'Yeah, I remember.'

'Well, apparently you're not her brother in her diary. Sometimes you're her best friend, at one point it seems you turn out to be a long-lost distant cousin, but most of the time you're her boyfriend.'

Colin blinked, several times. 'No. No, it was never like that. She was only twelve.'

'She lived in a sexualised world, Colin. Her Dad made sure of that.'

'But she never thought about me that way…'

'You know what,' replied Lynda, 'you're actually clueless enough about the opposite sex for me to believe you do honestly think she only ever saw you as a friend.'

'We _were_ friends!'

'Oh, Colin.' Lynda sighed. 'She had the most ridiculous crush on you. Of course she did! I think she still does.'

'No she _didn't_!'

'Why do you think she ever went to you in the first place?'

'She… she must have…' The penny dropped. Colin slumped with a loud exhalation of defeat. 'I only wanted to help her.'

'I know that,' nodded Lynda, 'and it seems you've still got a lot of friends at Norbridge High who are keen to retain some sort of good name for you. More than you probably think. Tiddler said she, Sophie and Laura ganged together to have some very stern words with Cindy last year and the diaries stopped being "found" pretty sharpish. But unfortunately, it's very hard to stop a nasty rumour once it's got started.'

Colin stared at Lynda, blankly. 'What sort of rumour?'

'I don't really have to spell it out to you, do I?'

Colin just blinked at her. She rubbed her eyes in despair.

'She wrote about having sex with you, Colin.'

'_What?!?_' the colour drained from Colin's face in an instant. He clenched his grazed fists and gulped a couple of times, struggling for breath. 'No, I didn't ever… I _wouldn't. Ever!_ I…'

'Of course you wouldn't. Anybody who knows you could tell only too well that up until a couple of months ago your cherry wasn't just intact, it was freeze dried, locked in a safe and buried under ten feet of re-enforced concrete. Only, in spite of your best efforts to attain Infamy in Norbridge, not everybody knows what you're like. And only you and I know why it is that Cindy's sense of self worth revolved so much around sex at such a young age. And the two of you did spend a lot of time together in the last term of school.'

'I just wanted to help her…' gasped Colin, 'I just… she was having such a hard time and…'

'Colin, you have to breathe.'

'…can't…'

'You're having a Panic Attack.'

'…I know!'

Lynda unfolded a small paper bag from her jacket pocket. 'I got this from the Greengrocer's on the way, just in case. Would you like it?'

Colin snatched the bag out of her fingers and began to breathe heavily into the bag's opening.

'So now you know,' continued Lynda as she watched him slowly bring the Panic Attack under control. 'Now you know why getting involved with Cindy Watkins or Simon Grossman or anything to do with them is a really, really bad idea. Tiddler reckons the rumours have started up again recently, big time. She doesn't know why they have, but we both have a feeling that might be why your sister got in that fight.'

Colin pulled the bag away from his mouth. 'I've got to fix it.'

'No. You'd only be fanning the flames.'

'Grossman's behind all this…'

'No, Colin,' replied Lynda, sharply. 'Cindy is behind all this. I hate to say it as much as you must hate to hear it because God knows the poor kid's been through a Hell that I don't think I could survive, but it has twisted her. She wrote down stories where the things she was being made to do were with somebody she actually liked, and they're coming out now because… I don't know. Maybe she wants to hurt you, maybe she wants to win you over, I just don't know, but I do know that it's her.'

'She wouldn't lie like that…'

'Of course she would! She lied before to get your attention, didn't she?'

Colin opened his mouth, and then silently closed it again.

'This needs to stop,' said Lynda. 'It could spell the end of UpStart if it carries on. It could spell the end of you, certainly, because if the wrong person is made to believe what she's suggesting…'

'I know,' he sighed. 'But what are we supposed to do?'

'You could always prosecute her for Libel, I suppose.'

'No way, Lynda. Not a chance. She's been through enough…'

'I thought you wouldn't like that idea,' Lynda replied. 'Unfortunately, at this moment, it's the only one I have.'

'I'm still not doing it.'

'Right. So in the meantime there's one thing that I definitely advise you do – which is to avoid Cindy Watkins completely. You don't want to do anything that'll give an impression that you ever might have been involved with her…'

'…like fighting with her boyfriend,' finished Colin.

'Well,' replied Lynda with a slight smile, 'I wouldn't recommend you did that no matter the circumstances. You're not particularly good at it. Seriously, let me take you to the A&E. That lip looks nasty.'

'No thanks, Lynda.' Colin got to his feet. 'I just want to go home.'

-x-

He shut all the curtains and left the lights switched off. The only light in the house was the flicker of the TV set that he kept on to create a background noise. The people on the box chattered and laughed without a care whether he paid them attention or not. Leaving the doors open, he went into his bedroom and lay on his bed in the dark. The phone rang, and Liz left a short, irritated message that she was being made to cover a late shift and couldn't come over. Silently, Colin thanked Lynda for making sure he had the night to himself. He picked his comb up from his bedside table and played with it a little, running a thumbnail over its teeth. There were still some scarlet hairs entwined in it from Lizzie's use of it the morning before last. It smelled of her shampoo. He was struck suddenly, not by what he had, but by everything that he could lose. He felt a familiar yawning pit opening up deep inside of him. He reached into the back of his bedside cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of tablets. He paused, toying with the bottle instead of opening it. The phone rang again. He continued to play with the bottle, listening. The answerphone clicked in.

'Colin?' The girl's voice was very quiet, trembling with nerves. 'Colin, it's me.'

Colin sat up. _No, Cindy. Please. Hang up. Don't do this._

'I hope this is still your number,' continued the voice, 'are you there?' There was a pause. 'I'm sorry about Simon,' she continued, 'he's an idiot.'

'So you finally cottoned on,' Colin told the machine.

'Yeah,' added the voice sadly, 'he's a big, stupid idiot. Thinks he knows what he's talking about, but he doesn't… Anyway. I just called because I wanted to check you were OK, and… and to… well, I just hope you're all right, that's all. Um. Bye, then.'

The machine fell silent again. Colin sat still for a moment, then leaned over and deleted the message. Then he quickly opened the bottle and downed two pills. He screwed the lid back on the bottle as fast as he had opened it and pushed it to the back of the cabinet, shutting the door. He lay back in his bed, picking red hairs from the pillow.

"It's different this time,' he told himself. 'There's nothing you can do. And you know where trying to help gets you.'

He ran the tip of his tongue over his cut lip. 'Another fine mess,' he sighed. 'Another fine mess.'


	18. Another Fine Mess 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Another Fine Mess

-x-

Two

-x-

'I can't believe you didn't like it.'

'_I_ can't believe it won all those awards. It didn't even have any car chases in it.'

'It was set a hundred years ago. There weren't any cars!'

'All right, then. A carriage chase.' Colin helped Liz to disentangle herself from her scarf. 'Would would have been so bad about sticking in a carriage chase?'

'Oh, and while they were at it, why didn't they just shoehorn in a couple of nifty explosions?'

'Exactly. Hi, Tiddler. You all right?'

Tiddler blinked at the couple, unsure. 'Yeah…'

Colin frowned back at the teenager's troubled expression. 'Is it my face? Are you worried about my face? I did explain my face, didn't I?'

'Some blokes in Balaclavas mugged you,' parroted Tiddler. 'Yeah, I remember.'

She turned back to the coffee machine, but still regarded Colin and Lizzie out of the corner of her eye. 'How's things with you guys?'

'I'm dating a Philistine, Tidge,' announced Lizzie. 'I've been trying to educate him in the cinematic arts…'

'…_her_ idea of "a treat",' interrupted Colin. 'Did I want to spend all night watching black and white videos? I ask you!'

'…put on The Elephant Man,' continued Liz, 'thought maybe he'd empathise, what with the whole disgusting, swollen face thing. In the bit where he's put in a cage as a Circus Freak, _he_ pipes up and says "now that's more like it!"…'

'Well, _somebody_ had to come out on top from the whole sorry affair,' argued Colin. 'Just because those Circus People had the nouse to know a high consumer interest opportunity when they saw one. Besides, I thought that would be the bit where we finally got to the elephants.'

Liz gaped at him. 'You're… kidding, right? You thought The Elephant Man was actually going to be about elephants?'

'Well, clearly it wasn't, Fish. And I was sorely disappointed. I thought that lopsided bloke was going to care for the elephants, or train them or something. It could have been a heartwarming tale for all the family instead of a miserable film about a man with a lumpy face who goes to the opera and dies.'

Liz clawed her fingers over her eyes. 'For the last time, it is called The Elephant Man because it's about a man with Elephantitis…'

'But he didn't have a trunk.'

'He wasn't actually turning into an elephant, Sir.'

'So…' interjected Tiddler, 'this was last night, right? Just hanging out, watching movies together?'

'I'm hardly going to let him out looking like this now, am I?' retorted Liz, gesturing at the fading bruises that covered Colin's face.

'This has been going on all week,' Colin added. 'If I have to read another subtitle I'm going to spontaneously combust.'

'So… you guys are still… you know…' Tiddler bit her lip. Colin and Lizzie just gazed back at her with matching blank expressions. '…Of course you are.'

'Of course we're what?'

'Nothing. Forget I said anything.' Tiddler hurried away as fast as she could with a tray full of coffees.

'That was weird.' Liz pulled herself up to perch on the staff room's high counter. 'Have you noticed? She's been out of sorts for a while now.'

'…mmm…' grunted Colin. 'D'you want a cup of tea?'

'I wonder if there's anything up,' Liz continued, 'you know – at home, maybe. Or at school.'

'…no sugar, right?' added Colin, desperately trying to change the subject. 'Honestly, Fish, I don't know how you can drink it like that…'

Liz ignored him, still gazing at the door Tiddler had disappeared through. 'Maybe I should ask her,' she muttered. 'It might even have something to do with…' she checked herself, cutting off her sentence abruptly, and decided that maybe a change of subject was the best way for the conversation to continue after all. 'You know, I think I _will _have a cuppa after all, Sir.'

Colin, having no desire to return to the matter of possible problems at Norbridge High, started inserting the 30p needed for Lizzie's tea without picking her up on her half finished comment.

'There's a sequel, you know.' Liz leaned forwards with an impish grin, swinging her legs. 'He makes friends with a mouse, and then he discovers he can fly.'

'Really…?' Colin pulled a face at Liz's tea as he passed it to her. 'That sounds much better. I might actually enjoy that… wait a minute, how could he make friends with a mouse if he's dead?'

Liz shrugged, innocently. 'Suspension of disbelief?'

'Are you making fun of me, Elizabeth?'

'Oooh, the full name!'

Liz slid herself off the counter and landed neatly beside Colin. They both walked back to their desks and both thought they'd been lucky to get away without telling the other what they knew, or how they had discovered it. They buried their unspoken worries over the events of the previous two weeks and, like people enjoying the calm weather before a tornado, they enjoyed a peaceful, trouble free morning.

-x-

The tornado came at ten past one that afternoon. She walked through the doors, announced herself to the receptionist, and sat down quietly to wait. She smiled politely in silence at the journalists and sales reps who scurried in and out, and quickly buried her head in a newspaper when Tiddler walked past.

Tiddler, herself engrossed in her French revision playing on her walkman as well as a packet of crisps, passed the girl reading the paper with only a brief glance and pushed open the office door. She stopped. She frowned. She switched off her tape and pulled the headphones from her ears. Slowly, she turned and leaned slightly to the side, peering around the paper in the girl's hands.

'Oh you are having me on,' she muttered to herself, and swiftly disappeared back into the newsroom.

With a small smile, Cindy folded the newspaper and put it back on the stand she'd taken it from. She sat back in her chair and picked at her nail varnish a little. The door swung open again, forcefully. Cindy looked up expectantly, but instead of Colin there was a dark haired woman in the doorway, glaring at her.

'I'm waiting for Colin Mathews,' explained Cindy.

'He's busy,' replied the woman, tersely.

Cindy shrugged. 'That's all right, I can wait 'til he's free.'

'That's not going to happen, Cindy.'

Cindy frowned at the woman. 'Have we met?'

'No.' The woman folded her arms. 'I'm Lynda Day.'

'Oh, yes. So you are.' Cindy cast a quick glance over the infamous Lynda Day. 'You look older than your pictures.'

'I guess I must just be very photogenic.'

Cindy stayed seated, matching Lynda's defensive posture. 'I've heard a lot about you.'

Lynda's lip twitched into a sad half-smile – one that almost expressed pity. 'Same here.' She paused. 'Shall we step outside?'

Cindy stalled.

'I don't think you'd want to have this conversation in public,' added Lynda.

Grudgingly, Cindy got to her feet and allowed Lynda to usher her outside.

'You going to beat me up too?'

'Oh, I think we've both seen enough pointless violence for one week,' Lynda replied.

They stopped, a few steps outside of the office, as the door shut behind them. Cindy folded her arms again, partially in a show of disdain, but mostly to keep out the cold.

'So what has he told you about me, then?'

Lynda softened a little. 'That you're lost in the woods. That you're a sweet, strong, clever girl who's just been dragged through so much darkness that it's hard for her to see the light. He didn't tell me that you were in love with him, though.'

Cindy flushed and stared at her shoes.

'I don't think he really understands that,' continued Lynda. 'He's a bit sub-normal when it comes to Feelings… at least, he _was_. I take it you know about the girlfriend?'

Still Cindy didn't answer.

'Isn't that why these stories have suddenly come out?' Lynda added. 'The first time… that was when he was back at Norbridge High ignoring you and mooning after that secretary, right? I can understand jealousy, believe me, but you don't seriously think that spreading a rumour like that will make it true, do you?'

Cindy looked up at Lynda, angrily. 'Lots of people believe me!'

'I've no doubt that they do. And that's why Colin is Busy. That's why Colin will always be Busy whenever you come to see him.' Lynda sighed. 'Can't you see what this is doing to him?'

'You haven't even told Colin I'm here, have you?'

'You're accusing him of being… like your Dad…'

'Don't you _dare_!' Hissed Cindy, stepping backwards away from Lynda. 'You think you're so bloody clever, don't you? But you don't know anything about me. You don't know anything!'

'I'm sorry this upsets you, Cindy, but I just won't let you do this. Why don't you go home?'

Cindy kept on backing away from Lynda. 'Leave me alone!'

'Leave _him_ alone.'

Cindy bit her lip angrily. She faltered for a second, and then turned and ran down the street.

Lynda sighed, and went back inside the office.

Outside, Cindy slowed, then stopped, and turned around. That awful Day woman had gone. She waited for a minute to check that she wasn't about to come out again, and then started walking back towards the office.

-x-

'I can completely understand your position, Mrs Fitzherbert.' Colin smiled what he hoped looked like a sympathetic smile at the customer down the phone. 'Yes, I imagine it _has_ been upsetting for you, but…' he waited a moment for the tirade being shouted at him from the other end of the line to die down. He noticed Frazz passing by his open office door and threw a bean bag at him.

'…but you have to remember,' he interjected as soon as he had the chance, 'typos will always happen, even with the best intentions. To err is human, to forgive is divine...?'

He paused again, allowing another avalanche of abuse to pass. He grinned at Frazz as he picked up the bean bag, looking distinctly unimpressed.

'Well, I tell you what, how's about we knock five percent off next time you advertise with us – as a goodwill gesture.' Colin waved his empty coffee mug hopefully at Frazz. Frazz struck an exaggerated "thinking" pose and then shook his head, pocketing the bean bag. 'All right then,' he conceded, 'seven percent.'

The phone still tucked under his chin, he protested silently as Frazz walked forward and shut the door to Colin's office on him.

'Of course it's a decent offer, Mrs Fitzherbert. It's certain to come in handy. You're bound to need to place another Death Notice sooner or later, we can't all live forever, you know. And when it does happen – well. Won't you be in luck… Hello? Mrs Fitzherbert?'

Mrs Fitzherbert's hysteria had turned into a click, and a dial tone. Colin shrugged and placed the receiver back in its cradle.

'You handled that really well, I thought.'

Colin jumped and span around in his chair. An over made-up teenager was climbing in through his window.

Colin stood up, slowly. 'Cindy…'

'Hi.' Cindy beamed. 'I just thought I'd pop by.'

'Cindy, you shouldn't be here…'

'This is all very nice.' She dropped to her feet, admiring the office. 'Very Hi-tech. Look – you've got one of those little clicky-clacky things on your desk.'

'It's an Executive Toy. My… _friend_ gave it to me.'

'Aren't they supposed to relieve stress?' Cindy poked at the little chrome balls. 'Does it work?'

Colin brushed her hand away, silencing the balls. 'I'm at work, Cind,' he explained quietly, casting his eyes at the carpet, 'you'd better go.'

'I'm really sorry about the other week,' said Cindy, 'about the fight… you know…'

'I know.'

Cindy paused for a second, biting her lip. 'I split up with Simon.'

'Really?' Colin blinked up at her. 'Well… good. Good. I'm glad you did.'

'I knew you'd be happy,' grinned Cindy.

'You need to be concentrating on your schoolwork,' continued Colin, 'not on boys. There's plenty of time for that after your GCSEs… maybe your A Levels too. Tell me, are you thinking of staying on at school for those or going to a College, because if you are you should really start looking at the brochures now. I tell you, my cousin Nev didn't do the research, just went to Hillside 'cause it was the nearest and it was terrible. There were bats. Bats, I ask you…'

'…thought maybe you and me could have a few drinks tonight,' blurted Cindy over him, 'to celebrate, I mean…'

Colin sighed. 'I know about the diaries.'

Cindy froze, staring at him miserably. 'They were just stories. I'll tell people they were just stories…'

'This is just a story too.' Colin met her gaze. 'You and me – it's just another story you've been telling yourself. Cindy, you're only 15.'

'Guys go out with younger girls all the time.'

'You're still a kid.'

Cindy began to gnaw on her bottom lip. 'This is about this girlfriend of yours, isn't it?'

Colin perched on the corner of his desk, still eyeing Cindy seriously. 'Even if Liz never existed, you and me would still be having this conversation right now, you realise. But, you know what - even if a twenty year old Brazilian Swimwear Model Heiress were to climb in through my window right now and ask me for drinks I still think I'd ask her to leave. So, you know, you're in good company at least.'

'But you love Swimwear Models!'

'I know.'

Cindy paused, frowning. 'You… you're in love with her, aren't you?'

Colin didn't speak for a good ten seconds but remained perched on his desk, running her question around and around in his mind. He'd tried not to think of that word since had slipped out back when he'd thought he'd lost Lizzie. That word had only hurt him then, and the idea of it only served to remind him of that miserable night – of how only Liz Fish had the power to make him feel quite so unhappy, quite so angry… quite so alone.

'Yes. I think I am.'

Cindy's frown froze on her face. She began to turn a little pink.

'Well… Congratulations,' she spat, sarcastically.

'Thanks,' replied Colin, genuinely. 'Listen, Cind. You've really got to go. I can't see you at work…'

The office door suddenly opened. 'Heard you were pestering Frazz for a coffee, Sir, so I brought you a…' Liz spotted Cindy and halted. 'Oh.' She blinked. 'Didn't know you were busy, Colin.'

Cindy glared at Liz. 'Is that her?'

'What do you mean, "is that her"?' demanded Lizzie. She turned to Colin. 'What does she mean? Who is this?'

'Erm…' Colin swallowed. 'Cindy, this is Lizzie, my… Girlfriend. Fish, this is Cindy.'

'Oh?' Liz did her best to sound unruffled. 'And Cindy is…?'

'…an old friend…' attempted Colin.

'Doesn't look all that old to me…' Liz muttered.

'…and I'm leaving,' added Cindy, stepping back towards the window without taking her eyes off Liz. 'I'll let you two have some privacy.'

'Please do,' Lizzie retorted.

'See you around, Colin.' The skinny teenager made swift work of clambering through the window. 'Stay out of trouble.' And with that, she was gone.

There was a long, frosty silence in the office.

Colin took the cup out of Lizzie's hand. 'Thanks for the coffee,' he mumbled.

'What was she doing here?'

'She just… popped by.'

'Really.' Liz quirked an eyebrow. 'Via the window.'

Colin just shrugged.

'She didn't seem too happy to see me though, eh?' Lizzie added.

Colin fought mentally for a decent explanation, but eventually had to resort to another shrug.

'You know what, Colin?' Liz took a couple of steps towards the door. 'When you're ready to tell me the truth about what's going on here I'll be at my desk. I'd be very interested to hear exactly what it is that our young Miss Watkins wants from you.'

Colin's only reply was to shove his hands into his pockets with a small sigh. Liz was halfway through shutting the door on him when a thought struck him.

'I never told you her surname.'

Liz froze in her tracks, the door handle in her hand. She looked up at him, sheepishly.

'Who've you been talking to, Liz?'

'I…' started Lizzie.

The standoff was interrupted by Julie as she grabbed Lizzie's shoulder.

'Liz. There you are.' The blonde sounded out of breath. 'Massive fire at the industrial estate, whole place is going up like a tinderbox. Spike's driving a pool down now, Lynda wants you on it.'

'Give us a minute…' started Colin.

'No time!' Julie physically took hold of Lizzie's collar and began ushering her away from the Financial Director's office. 'Get your stuff, we've got to go. I need a camera. Where are all the cameras…?'

'Liz…?' Colin tried to follow the Scot.

'I have to go.' Liz was stuffing her notebook and a couple of pens into her coat pockets. 'We'll talk about this later, OK?'

'This'll take you the rest of the day.'

'This evening, then.'

'I've got that stupid meeting tonight.'

'All right then. Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow. All right?'

Colin half smiled a concession. 'Be careful, eh? Don't catch on fire or anything.'

Liz snorted a short laugh. 'Don't you get mugged again.'

'Come on!' Julie screamed over them.

Liz gave him a light kiss and hurried after Julie.

It was only when she was in the car, halfway towards the fire that she started to wonder about Colin's strange expression at her last comment, and only as they pulled up amongst the sirens and the mayhem that she realised – _He hadn't been mugged at all._

She found herself staring helplessly up at the inferno, her pen lifeless in her hand. Spike stepped back to join her by the car.

'Keeping your distance, huh? Good idea. I kinda got a pathological fear of collapsing buildings these days…' he gazed at her. 'You OK?'

She couldn't tear her eyes from the bright destruction, devouring the estate – chaos ruining in moments the things that had taken man so much time and effort to build.

'Everything's falling apart,' she murmured, 'everything's falling apart.'


	19. Another Fine Mess 3

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Another Fine Mess

-x-

Three

-x-

'Should I stay or should I go now?'

Liz paced the floor of her bedsit, singing under her breath to herself.

'Should I stay or should I go now?'

It was getting hot, much too hot. Too many emotions flying about. It wasn't that he'd lied to her. It was that his lying to her still didn't change the way she felt.

'If I go there will be trouble…'

This Cindy Watkins thing was serious business, she knew that… And it was _his _business. She'd already pried too much. He obviously wanted to be left to deal with it himself – he had made that very clear. People didn't usually take an interest in his secrets… maybe they feared what they might discover. Whatever the reason, he was used to certain things remaining unknown. And that was probably the best way.

'If I stay there will be double…'

How long had she been at UpStart… 4… 5 months? That had to be experience enough. Perhaps it was time to move on. She wasn't exactly getting itchy feet yet, but maybe it was for the best if she didn't leave it any longer. With a sudden impulse, she pulled her big red suitcase from underneath her bed and opened it. She grabbed a couple of handfuls of clothes up from the floor and dumped them in the case. Keeping up a fevered momentum, she moved to her bookshelf.

'So c'mon and let me know…'

She stalled. She only had a few books – her dyslexia made her a slow reader – but the shelf was full of bits and bobs – cheaply framed photos, presents, mementos of her months in Norbridge. A bright plastic whirligig, a plastic rose, a snowglobe, a bucks fizz cork with a smiley face drawn on it. Every thing worthless. Every thing priceless. Every thing connected to such blissful happiness. She picked up one of her souvenirs – a stolen pub pint mug filled with water. In the water was a wind-up toy goldfish, and written on a beer mat stuck to the bottom was the word 'FISH!' She poked at the toy fish in the dusty water. She had to go. She had to. It had hurt so badly the last time. She couldn't afford to fall in love again. It was too much. It was too soon. It was too complicated. She had to get out before it was too late.

The beer mug still in her hand, she sat down on the bed, pondering.

Before it was too late.

'Should I stay or should I…?'

Too late.

She reached for her phone and dialled.

There were a couple of rings before the voice at the other end of the line said, in a tone dripping with sarcasm, 'Pat Sharpe's Funhouse – it's a whole lotta fun, prizes to be won…'

'Listen, Billy,' announced Liz, cutting him off in mid breath, 'remember that time I pushed you up all those stairs in Debenhams and then had to pretend to be very interested in foundation just so that you could chat up the make-up counter girl…?'

'Ah, yes,' sighed the voice, 'Stacey. Terrible skin – it was like kissing a rice crispie cake.'

'Well I'm calling in the favour.'

'What – right now?'

'Yes, right now.'

'But I'm watching Ready Steady Cook.'

'Well, tape it! I need that geeky grey matter of yours to do some computer hacking and I need it now!'

'Why _now_?'

'Because it's too late, you see. It's already too late.'

Billy paused. 'Have you been at the Draino again?'

'Shut up and Hack.'

'I'm Hacking, I'm Hacking!'

-x-

'So I've heard about her, OK? Big deal.' Liz followed Colin along the street to the office, cheerfully munching an apple.

'You must have heard more about her than just her second name,' replied Colin, 'and I'd still like to hear who it is you got your information from.'

'She's 15, she's in with a bad crowd and she's interested in you.'

'Where are you getting all this from?'

Liz smiled sweetly. 'A good journalist never reveals her sources.'

'What about a good girlfriend?'

'Even less so.' She threw her apple core at a dustbin, and missed. 'You used to be friends with her in your last term of school. That's the bit that doesn't make any sense to me.'

'An 18 year old making friends with a 12 year old girl, you mean?'

Liz snorted a laugh as she linked arms with him. 'No, I mean she didn't work for the paper, she's never been involved with any of your little scams apparently, and she doesn't have any older sisters that you might have been trying to cop off with. So why did you give her the time of day?'

Colin gave her a sideways glance. 'You don't have to make me out to be completely self interested and shallow, you know.'

'So why _did_ you used to hang out with the kid?'

Colin drew breath to answer her, and then thought better of it.

'Another secret, eh?' noted Liz, 'Don't we have a lot of those?'

She opened the door for him and they both swung through into the office.

'It's not a secret as such,' Colin told Liz as he passed the Receptionist, picking up a wad of messages as he went, 'it's just… all right, it _is_ a sort-of secret. But it's not like I don't trust you to tell you, only it's… it's a delicate matter, OK? Not the sort of subject for a public conversation in a workplace environment if you catch my drift.'

'Colin?' called a Sales Rep from the other end of the office, 'Colin!'

Liz frowned at him. 'Sounds a bit deep.'

'Deep like a…' Colin stalled. 'What's something really deep, and dark, and a bit scary?'

'Colin!' insisted the Rep.

'Deep like a… a series of underground caves, connected by narrow subterranean rivers,' assisted Lizzie.

Colin nodded. 'Good one. Like it. Nice use of extended metaphor.'

'Colin!'

'Actually, that was a simile, Sir.'

'Colin…' the Rep, a phone to his ear, had to physically grab hold of Colin to get his attention. 'How much do we charge for Lost and Found?'

'Depends whether it's lost or found.'

'Lost,' replied the Rep.

Colin nodded. '30p a word for umbrellas, wedding rings and stuff, pets count as Public Notices…'

'What about people?' asked the Rep on the phone. 'Is that a Public Notice too?'

Colin hushed the Rep quickly, glancing around to see if anybody had heard.

'Yes,' he hissed. 'See if you can get them to take a quarter page or something. Can't have a missing person in a tiddley bit of lineage, if you know what I…'

'You can't charge people for a missing person advert!' exclaimed Liz, loudly. Several journalists including Julie turned at the sound of her voice.

Colin rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

'It's a job for Editorial,' continued Lizzie, 'we have to give them a big free piece, do our bit for the community, get everybody looking for this poor sod…'

'…not to mention getting a nice juicy Human Interest article land in your lap…' muttered Colin, darkly.

Julie snatched the phone out of the Rep's hand. 'Nice try, Colin. I'll handle this, if you don't mind.'

'But Julie,' protested Liz, 'I was the first one who…'

Julie gave her a treacle sweet smile as she perched on the desk, the phone receiver beneath her chin and pad at the ready. 'You handling the story might cause resentment between you two Lovebirds,' she cooed. 'I'm just trying to keep the peace.'

Lizzie snarled, muttering expletives under her breath.

'How can you possibly be upset, Liz,' Colin told her with an air of exaggerated innocence about his eyebrows, 'after all, the reason that you just sabotaged a particularly high yielding potential sale was because it was morally wrong to take their money…'

'Well,' argued Lizzie, 'it was. But what'd she have to go and take my story for…?'

'Oh!' exclaimed Colin, his voice overloaded with a crude sarcasm, 'So it's _your story_ now…'

'Don't try to be sarcastic, Colin, you can't pull it off.'

Colin opened his mouth, willing a devastating comeback to spring from it. Nothing happened. He shut it again and, desperately seeking a change of tack, turned on Julie. 'I thought you were supposed to be keeping the peace.'

Julie gave him a lightening fast Look, before going back to sympathetically murmuring to the person on the other end of the phone and scribbling furiously on her notepad.

'Julie…?'

'Shhh!' Julie snapped.

Colin looked towards Lynda's desk for support, only to see her watching the scene with a grin of Sadistic glee. He groaned. 'Why does my life have to be full of so many bloody women?'

'You know,' muttered Spike, just loud enough for Lynda to hear as Colin made a hasty escape into his office, 'I ask myself the same question pretty much every day.'

'…so if you can get the photos in to us by noon, we can have the article out in the next issue,' continued Julie on the phone. 'We can't promise any better than that I'm afraid… sure. Well listen, our thoughts are certainly with you. Will you let me know if you hear anything? Yes. Here's hoping. Bye.' She hung up and went back to her desk with a sad sigh.

'Someone's Granddad wandered off?' Lynda asked, brightly.

Julie glared daggers at her editor. 'It's a kid, actually. A Norbridge High student at that. Really sad.' Julie referred to her notes. 'She'd been doing badly at school for a while, bullied, apparently, and she'd been seeing a child psychologist on and off for years. Then it all fell apart this week. Broke up with her boyfriend, and her Mum heard her having an argument with another girl who called at the house last night. When the Mum went to wake her up this morning, she'd thrown some clothes in a bag, nicked about a tenner in loose change and run off.'

Lynda tutted, sadly. 'Well, it's all going on at school at the moment, isn't it? What's the kid's name? Anyone we might know at the paper?'

Julie shook her head. 'Nobody I've heard of. Kid called Cindy Watkins.'

Lynda froze, and she could tell that behind her, Liz had also looked up at the sound of the name. A clatter from Colin's office told her that he'd heard it too.

'Does… does…' Lynda shook her head, clicking her brain back into a composed order. 'Was there anything else?'

'Not really,' replied Julie, but by that point Colin was already at Lynda's shoulder and Liz was out of her desk and hurrying towards them.

'Could I have a word, Lynda?' Colin didn't give Lynda time to reply before he physically pulled her into her never-used office. Taking advantage of Lynda's wordlessness in surprise and growing indignation at being manhandled, he managed to get the first strike in.

'What did you do, Lynda? What did you say to her? What did you threaten her with?'

Lynda found her voice again, wrenching his hand off her with a vice like fist. 'I am going to murder you, Colin Mathews. How dare you push me?'

Liz reached the office door. 'Sir…?'

'Cindy could be dead in a ditch by now,' continued Colin, unabashed, 'or some drug dealer's injected her full of Heroin. What did you go to her house for?'

'Sir?' Lizzie insisted, 'Colin!'

'Not now, Liz, I'm a bit busy.'

'But I really do think we should talk first.'

'Liz,' Colin sighed, 'this is between me and Lynda, all right?'

'No, it's not I'm afraid.'

Spike poked his head round the door. 'Hey, what's goin' on? Colin, am I gonna have to beat you up for laying your filthy hands on my woman?'

'Join the queue,' snorted Lynda, 'and I am not "your woman".'

'Do you mind?' Colin snapped, 'Lizzie, what was that supposed to mean?'

'It wasn't Lynda who went to talk to Cindy at her house,' said Lizzie, 'it was me.'

'What?'

'I said, it was me…'

'I heard what you said,' replied Colin. 'I'm just having trouble working out why you decided to go and do something so unbelievably stupid…'

'Don't call me stupid,' seethed Liz, 'I went to speak to that girl because…'

'"That girl"?' Colin aped, 'you don't know anything about her…'

'I know about the diary,' yelled Liz, 'I know about the rumours. I know exactly what that little cow is doing and I wanted to make sure it stopped.'

'Well, you've managed to stop it pretty thoroughly, haven't you? She can't write stories in a diary if she's overdosed on White Lightning in a kebab shop doorway...'

'I was _trying_ to _help_ you!'

'Well, _don't_!'

Lynda glanced out of her office, all too aware that nearly everybody in the newsroom were craning their heads to see what was going on. 'Calm down, the pair of you.'

'How do you know all of this anyway, Liz?' Colin continued, 'who've you been speaking to?'

Lizzie stalled for a moment before answering him in a softer tone. 'OK… so I had a chat with your sister…'

'Didn't I tell you, Liz? Didn't I ask you specifically not to poke your nose into my family?'

'She was obviously upset,' added Liz over him, 'you weren't talking to the poor girl, she needed somebody to listen to her. She got into that fight to try and protect you, you know that? Just what's so damn wonderful about this Cindy that makes you reject every single attempt the people who love you make to help you out?'

'You two need to calm down right now,' warned Lynda, 'before I tip a bucket of cold water over you both.'

'_I'm_ not the one who needs help,' Colin insisted, '_she_ is…'

'Spike, get me a bucket of cold water…' Lynda trailed off, looking from Colin to Liz. She sighed and softened. 'She was abused, Liz.'

Liz blinked, breaking away from the stand-off. 'Abused?'

'Raped,' clarified Colin, still retaining all the hostility of the shouting match in his voice, even though it had dropped to a volume that was barely louder than a whisper. 'Systematically, by her father. That was why she came to me. She needed help.'

Liz put her hand to her mouth. 'Oh God.'

'She was nine when it started, and it didn't stop until I was able to get her to report it, when she was twelve. Three years. Can you imagine, being a nine year old child so trapped, so terrified of the very person that's supposed to be looking after you? Nobody could come out of that in one piece. And then _you_ went to her house and you threatened her and now… I'm trying not to think of what would happen to a girl like her on the streets of London.'

'Oh God, Oh God…' Liz backed away a little, tears welling in her eyes. 'I'm so sorry. I just… I didn't want anything to happen to you… I had no idea…'

'And that was the way I liked it,' replied Colin, bitterly. 'Bit late for that now.'

Liz turned with a sob and hurried out of Lynda's office, pushing past a shocked Spike, still in the doorway.

'She's crying,' noted Colin, numbly.

'Yes,' replied Lynda. 'Don't think you over reacted at all, did you?'

'Why does she always need to go delving into my life like that, Lynda?'

'Because I think she likes you,' Spike chipped in, 'at least she used to.'

'Well that's no need to go around trying to find out everything about me,' said Colin. 'There's nothing to like.' He gave Lynda a strange look. 'It's ugly. It's all ugly. That's all she'd ever find.' He blinked. 'I need to go now.'

Lynda nodded. 'Fine.'

Spike stood aside to let Colin past, and then stood, staring at Lynda. The editor frowned to herself.

'Lynda?'

'What an odd thing for him to say,' said Lynda. 'I hope he's not thinking about doing anything stupid… and no, the irony of saying that about Colin Mathews isn't lost on me.'

'Lynda,' Spike repeated, 'who the Hell is Cindy Watkins?'

-x-

Trying his hardest not to appear self-conscious, Spike cautiously entered the women's toilet block. He gave a brief sigh of relief when he saw it was empty save for the snuffling occupant of the furthest cubicle. He knocked discreetly on the locked door.

'Hey, Lizzie.'

'Spike?' sniffed the Scottish voice from within, 'What are you doing in the Ladies' loos?'

'Special dispensation from On High. She can't deal with crying women, so she's delegated the Bossly duty of making sure you're OK on to Yours Truly.'

'Oh.'

There was a brief pause. Spike cleared his throat. 'So… wanna come out so I don't look like such a pervert?'

The lock opened with a click, and a tear-stained Liz opened the door ajar, peering at the American through the crack. 'Want to come in so I don't look like such a Wuss? I'm not a great public weeper.'

'Deal,' agreed Spike. Liz opened the door for him to slip through before closing it again, leaning her back against it. Spike chose to sit on the lidded seat of the toilet.

'If it makes you feel any better,' he said, ' I've only just been filled in about Cindy Watkins myself. Seems that our better halves had been keeping that sad story a secret between them for quite a few years.

Liz wiped her eyes. 'I feel like such an idiot. If he'd have just told me… and for the record, I didn't "threaten" her. Not exactly.'

'What did you do?'

'I… I got Billy to find me her address and I went there to tell her…' Liz sniffed. '…to tell her to leave him alone. That he was my guy and she wasn't going to lie or cheat him away from me, and that I knew damn well those little stories of hers weren't true, because…' Liz glanced down, a little sheepishly. 'Well, to paraphrase myself, because I know a virgin when I screw one.'

Spike raised his eyebrows. 'Classy.'

'_She_ was accusing him of paedophilia, Spike! It needed to be stopped. Maybe I was tactless but I had to take the stand. For his sake. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same if it was Lynda.'

'You know that I would.'

'Well, then.'

'So, if you did what was right, there's no need for you to feel bad,' concluded Spike, 'Right?'

'Too late,' replied Liz, looking down at her boots.

'What?'

Liz rolled her head up, pressing her back against the cubicle door. 'I was going to leave last night. I was about to just pack up and go - go anywhere, just leave a note saying goodbye and thanks for all the memories.' She looked at Spike. 'It's a little habit of mine – a form of self preservation. Or at least it's meant to be, only I keep on fudging the timing.'

Spike said nothing as she paused for breath, but let her continue uninterrupted.

'Just before I moved the first time there was this boy. Fair enough broke my heart and I couldn't cope with it any more so I got away – left Glasgow, ended up settling in Leicester, trying my hand at Uni. Only there was another boy, and this time it was even more intense. He proposed in less than a year and I truly thought I was going to marry him. But then that fell apart too, and eventually so did I. Spent two terms with a hangover, failed my course. And so I ran away again, came here to make a fresh start and, God damn my rotten stinking luck, there was this bloody guy and I really liked him and in spite of myself I tried to make a go of it, telling myself I'd watch out this time, I'd get out if it if it looked like I was going to get hurt. But here I am again, and this is all turning exactly the way the others did. I'm trapped, Spike. I'm stuck in a loop. It's the same old story again and again.'

Lizzie fell silent. Spike could sense that she wanted a prompt, so he asked her which same old story she was talking about.

'I make him angry,' Liz replied, 'I make them all angry. It starts out well, they like the attention I pay them at first, and then it changes. They start to get sick of my prying and I start to get obsessive… needing to know every last detail about them, analysing them all the time, starting fights with them all the time, becoming all possessive… I can't help it. They get angry, and they hate getting angry, and eventually they start to hate _me_. And then I end up still in love with somebody who hates me, and that's just the worst feeling in the world.'

Spike watched her with a silent sympathy.

'I thought I could change the pattern this time,' sighed Liz, 'but I can't. I thought I could escape falling in love with the guy, but it's too late for that. Now I've got nothing to look forward to except watching the whole thing turn to shit. I'm such a screw up.'

'You sure are,' nodded Spike.

'Thanks for the vote of confidence.'

'Believe me, it takes one to know one.' Spike gave her a small smile. 'Liz, next time you step into the newsroom, take a good look around at the people you work with. Julie. Billy. Hell, Sarah's due back here on her Spring Break next month, she's a prime example. Look at me and Lynda – it's only the personal abuse and bubbling resentment that's keeping us together. This place is like an asylum for the Romantically Insane. And you know the biggest screw-up of them all…?' Spike paused for reflection momentarily. 'Well OK, that's Lynda, but she's in a whole different league to the rest of us, so she doesn't count. Apart from her, the biggest screwcase in this whole bag of nuts would have to be one Colin Mathews, and that's why you and him are perfect together.'

'You think that?'

'I've witnessed his approach to courtship. Any girl who can put up with that for more than five minutes deserves a medal, let alone falling in love with the guy… you're in love with him. God, that is so wonderful! I take it by the fact he hasn't been wearing an intensely annoying perma-grin that you haven't told him yet.'

Liz shook her head. 'I should, shouldn't I? I should see him. Is he in his office…?'

'Lynda sent him home,' Spike replied, 'this whole thing's hit him pretty hard.'

'Oh.'

'Tell you what, Why don't you give the both of you a few hours to cool down, go over after lunch, apologise, tell him you're worried about him and that you love him, have yourself some make-up sex…'

Liz laughed a little. 'Sounds good. Thanks, Spike.'

'Man,' continued Spike, half to himself, 'make-up sex is the best. I haven't had make-up sex in ages.'

'Spike…?'

'The really good kind,' Spike added wistfully, 'where you're still kinda mad at each other at the start…'

'Spike.'

Spike blinked at Liz, getting swiftly to his feet and heading for the door. 'Excuse me, Liz. I have to go start an argument with Lynda.'

-x-

It was half past two when Lizzie knocked on Colin's front door. She waited for a moment for him to answer, hiding a small bunch of flowers behind her back. After a good thirty seconds had passed without him answering, she knocked again, louder.

There was still no answer.

She knocked a third time, and called his name.

She tried peering through his front window. The curtains were open but she couldn't see anybody inside. She tried the door one last time before turning away with a frown, and heading back to her flat.

-x-

She stopped just inside the lobby of her building. There was something in her pigeon hole. The postman had already been when she had left for work – this small rectangle of card was new. She pulled it out, recognising one of Colin's business cards instantly. She turned it over and looked at it for a moment.

'Oh no.'

On the back was a message.

'No, no, no…'

- I'm sorry I made you cry. I've gone to look for Cindy. I'll be back when I've found her. I don't know when that'll be. Take care. C. -


	20. Another Fine Mess 4

-x-

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Another Fine Mess

-x-

Four

-x-

Spike stirred lazily in Lynda's bed.

'God, that was good.'

'Mmm.'

'Glad you ducked out early?'

'This had to be done,' Lynda told him, matter-of-factly.

Spike stretched out, resting his hands behind his head. 'You're tellin' me.'

'Yes, you were certainly very appreciative…' Lynda paused. 'Almost _too_ appreciative, considering you were supposed to be cross at me. Almost as if… Spike, you didn't start that row deliberately, did you?'

Spike avoided her gaze. 'Don't be ridiculous. And by the way, I'm still right.'

'Try not to be a complete imbecile all your life you stupid bloody Yank,' replied Lynda curtly, 'for the last time, George Elliot was a bloody woman. The name's a pseudonym.'

'So him real name was a Sue Donnim…?'

'For the love of…' Lynda narrowed her eyes. 'You're doing it again, aren't you?'

Spike grinned at her widely, and was about to answer when there was a loud, insistant banging on the door. Spike shot a quick look at Lynda before quickly leaping out of bed, pulling his clothes on hurriedly.

'Stay there,' he commanded.

Lynda ignored him, throwing her own clothes on. 'It might be work.'

'What if it's not?'

'It's only six,' protested Lynda, 'I don't think it's going to be a hit man at this hour.'

'Dangerous weirdos'll turn up any time of the day,' Spike replied, 'you should know that.'

Before Lynda could answer him, he slipped out of the bedroom and hurried to the front door. He glanced through the peep hole and exhaled, relaxing. He opened the door.

'What's up, Liz? I though you were gonna…' he cut himself short. Lizzie was crying. 'What happened?'

'He's gone, Spike. He's just gone.'

'What?' a dishevelled Lynda joined Spike at the door.

'I went round to see him, like you said, but he was gone.' Liz sniffed, handing Spike the business card. 'He left this.'

Spike read the card. 'Well, he can't have gone far. Maybe he's just…'

'He's not here,' interrupted Liz, 'I've been all over town. He's gone!'

Lynda took the card from Spike.

'God knows where he's gone,' continued Lizzie, 'He could be anywhere. Damn it…'

'He's in London,' said Lynda.

'What…? How do you know that?'

'He mentioned London earlier,' Lynda explained, 'remember? He assumed that was where Cindy was. Maybe she talked about running away there to him, I don't know. But I bet that where he's gone to find her.'

'Well… He'll be OK,' Spike told them, unconvinced himself. 'He's a grown man, he's used to getting stuff done by himself, God knows he's used to talking his way out of trouble. He'll… he'll be…' He looked at the expressions of the two women and sighed. 'Get in the car.'

-x-

'Correct me if I'm wrong,' said Spike as he pulled onto the motorway, 'I mean, I know I'm not from these parts originally, but isn't London kinda a big place? How are we supposed to find Colin there?'

'You're a journalist, Spike.' Lynda replied. 'We all are. So we do what journalists do – we ask.'

A muffled ringing sound started up somewhere in the car. Liz jumped to attention in the back seat.

'What's that? Is that a phone? Maybe it's him.'

Lynda opened her large handbag and peered inside. The ringing grew louder.

'Answer it, Lynda!'

Lynda began to rummage through the assorted contents of the bag. 'It's in here somewhere…'

'Where do we even start?' added Spike, 'It's not like Norbridge, you know…'

Lynda fished out the chirruping phone and answered it. 'Lynda Day…' hearing the caller's voice she shot Liz a quick apologetic glance. 'Oh, hi Julie.'

Liz slumped back, rubbing her face. 'He wasn't driving,' she told Spike, 'the train would have taken him in to Victoria, so I reckon we start there.'

'It's getting late,' added Spike, 'is now really the best time to go trawling round London looking for one guy?'

'No it's not,' Lizzie replied, biting down on a thumbnail, 'but I can't help that. I can't sit around at home waiting for morning. I'm worried about him. You two can drop me off and go back if you like…'

'Nah.' Spike overtook a trundling Morris Minor. 'I reckon we got enough people wandering around the big city on their own for one night. Besides… I worry about him too. He hasn't been himself recently.'

'Since the Cindy thing blew up,' agreed Liz.

Spike laughed a little. 'Longer than that. Longer than you've known him. He used to be so confident about everything…'

'Before I came along, you mean?'

'It's not to do with you,' Spike reassured her. 'I think it's a bunch of other stuff. When he was a kid there was nothin' he didn't think he could do.' Spike grinned to himself. 'He was such an asshole. And these days he's just… he's scared. He's not invincible or immortal any more and he's so frightened.' He paused for a moment. 'I remember talking to my Dad's cousin when I was a kid. He'd got himself shot in the guts in Vietnam back in '72. And he said it was the single most painful, terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. He thought he was gonna die. He got nightmares for years after. He'd wake up sobbing. And this was a soldier, pushing 30 years old. Colin was 18 when the same thing happened to him.'

'Must've been really scary for all of you,' said Lizzie, quietly.

'Yep.' Spike paused. 'Weird how your memory plays tricks on you – I don't remember him holding a gun to me at all, even though I know that it happened. I remember him holding guns up to the others, though. I remember their faces… I remember how terrified Kenny was. Jesus. And how my heart was in my mouth every time he threatened Lynda with the gun. But all I remember about Colin was the sound. Because we thought we were home and dry, and he said something to Colin, and Colin replied, kinda quiet, like. And then he said "that's a shame"… somethin' like that. And then there was this bang, outta nowhere, and then it all went quiet again. He didn't scream. He didn't even scream. He just lay there and that bastard with the gun was just stood looking down at him. And for a good ten seconds I honestly, honestly thought he was dead. And you know what that prick says as he's looking down at our _friend_ who is lying with a _bullet_ in him on the floor? – "He was annoying". My God! I don't care what that bastard was trying to prove to himself. Colin lay there in agony, thinking he was dying and his verdict was it was because he was "annoying". Can you imagine? Somebody tries to kill you because of _that_? What does that do to a guy?'

'This is a very depressing subject,' Lynda interrupted, stuffing her phone back into her bag. 'Can't we think of anything else to talk about?'

'What did Julie want?' asked Liz.

'Work stuff,' replied Lynda, vaguely. 'Have we decided where we're going to start asking around?'

'Victoria,' Spike told her. 'Uh… who is it exactly we're gonna be asking about him?'

-x-

'You're kidding me.' Spike stood unmoving on what he still stubbornly continued to call "the sidewalk" outside Victoria station, staring at what he, with his Colonial colloquialisms, would refer to as "a bum".

'Absolutely not,' insisted Lynda. 'We're trying to find Colin's trail, remember.'

'He assumed Cindy was living on the streets here,' added Liz.

'And who is his usual port of call when he wants something?' asked Lynda, rhetorically. 'The Underworld. He'll have been approaching tramps to try to get a lead…'

'I think the preferred term is "Homeless People",' Liz chipped in.

'Her boyfriend could be in a canal, with used syringes stuck in his eyeballs by now and she's worried about semantics…'

'Don't listen to her, Liz,' Spike soothed, hurriedly, 'I'm sure he's fine.'

'Sure.' Lynda shrugged. 'Maybe he just got sold to a German Businessman or something…'

Liz narrowed her eyes at Lynda momentarily before marching up to the Tramp or Bum or Homeless Person who was sitting in the Pret-a-Manger doorway, swearing at a small mongrel on a piece of rope.

Lynda shot Spike a smug little look. 'She just needed that extra bit of motivation, I thought.'

'I'm sorry, Lynda,' Spike replied flatly, staring into the middle distance, 'my brain's still struggling to get over the mental image of Colin being some fat German's sex slave. I mean… who would _pay_ for him?'

'Some of those German Businessmen can be pretty kinky, you know. I think it's the Lederhosen…'

She trailed off as Liz came hurrying back.

'No go,' sighed the Scot, 'I showed him the photo from my purse and he'd never seen him before.'

'You have a picture of him in your purse?' Spike asked the flushing girl, 'Liz, that's adorable!'

'Oh yes,' snapped Lynda, 'it's a real Hallmark Moment. Syringes in his eyeballs, people, syringes in his eyeballs!' She grabbed them both, one arm each, and tugged them down the road. 'We'll circle the station if we have to, let's just keep going, shall we?'

-x-

It took them half an hour, and eight vagrants, to find somebody who recognised Colin from Liz's photo. A quick trip to a café to buy a cup of tea and slice of cake for the old woman provided them with the information that he had asked her about a young blonde girl. The old woman hadn't been able to help him and he'd walked off. The old woman indicated the direction he had gone – up the street, away from the station. They gave the old woman a further £5 and hurried up the street until they found a young man dozing in a bookshop doorway. Although he complained about being woken, a ten pound note cheered him up somewhat after he too said that he recognised Colin from the photo. He pointed in the direction Colin had gone – straight up the street again. The next down-and-out gave the same information, and the next. After the fifth pointed out exactly the same direction, Lynda rubbed her eyes and leaned against a bus shelter, waving the others to her.

'He's going in a straight line, isn't it?'

'Yep,' Spike replied. He checked his A-Z, plotting the line they had taken from the station. North-West, pretty much as the crow flies.'

Liz shook her head. 'That doesn't make any sense. The biggest city in Britain and he thinks he can find one person just by walking a line through it? That's crazy!'

'You have met Colin Mathews, haven't you?' asked Lynda.

'He's not _that_ mad! He's not… breaking down…' Liz faltered. 'Is he…?'

'Well,' Lynda conceded, 'not "breaking down", as far as I'm aware.' She turned to Spike. 'What time is now?'

Spike checked his watch. 'Quarter to nine.'

'OK, so let's say Colin came to London straight after he left work… give him time to leave the note for Liz and go to the station… about an hour, say, to get into Victoria… I reckon he probably got in at around half eleven in the morning. Nine hours ago, give or take. Slow down his walking speed for stopping to ask tramps about Cindy, let's say he was going at about 2 miles an hour, North West, for nine hours. Where'd he be?' Lynda paused, looking at Spike. 'Come on, Spike, 18 miles North West from here…'

'Oh!' Spike frowned down at his A-Z. 'Hang on… hang on…' he flipped past several pages. 'Hang on.' He faltered. 'No. No, that can't be right…'

'What?'

'That puts him out of the city. Rickmansworth.'

'What?' exclaimed Liz, 'he can't be in Rickmansworth! That's not possible. He'd have stopped… he'd have turned…'

'Let's go back to the car,' said Lynda.

'Lynda, we are not going to Rickmansworth!'

'Take the route he'd have taken eh, Spike?' Lynda added, 'North West all the way. Liz, keep an eye out in case we overshoot him.'

'Lynda, he is not in Rickmansworth! What would he be doing in Rickmansworth?'

Lynda gave Liz a quick, sad glance. 'Exactly the same thing he'd be doing in London. Now, come on, let's find him before he gets to the M25 and gets hit by a lorry.'

'Jesus Christ…' breathed Liz, hurrying after the others back to the car.


	21. Another Fine Mess 5

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Another Fine Mess

-x-

Five

-x-

Spike hugged Lynda as she shivered in the night air on Rickmansworth High Street. 'Well. Here we are. The sunny suburbs.' He looked over at Liz, her arms clasped around herself. The poor girl looked terrible. 'Hey, look on the bright side – we're out of the Inner City. You get a whole better class of Hobo round these parts.'

Liz shook her head. 'This place is miles out. He's not here, I'm telling you…'

'One way to find out,' replied Lynda, indicating a dreadlocked young woman smoking a roll-up beneath a cashpoint.

Liz sighed grimly and approached the woman. 'Hiya.'

The woman squinted up at Liz. 'Hello?'

Liz squatted down next to her, fishing through her pockets. 'Fancy some proper ciggies?'

'Yeah,' replied the woman, rubbing her nose, 'what you got?'

Liz produced a small cigarette packet and offered it to the woman, who pulled a face.

'Silk Cut? _Lights_?'

'I know. I'm trying to quit. Officially, I already have.'

'Ah, I'll take 'em off your hands anyway.' The woman took the packet off Lizzie, snorting a small laugh. 'Beggars can't be choosers and all that.' She sniffed, watching Liz take the photo out of her purse. 'Now, don't tell me you're looking for this little Blonde bird an' all… I told the other bloke, I ain't seen her.'

Liz's eyes widened. 'You _have_ seen him?' She showed the woman her photo. 'This guy?'

'Yeah, about half an hour ago… maybe a bit more.'

Liz licked her lips, trying to control her breath. 'How did he look? Was he OK…?'

The woman shrugged. 'Bit cold, bit tired, bit bonkers. He ain't your bloke, is he? Coz I think you're barking up the wrong tree there. He seemed pretty obsessed with finding this Candy…'

'Cindy,' Liz corrected. 'Did you see which way he went?'

'I sent him over to the shelter,' replied the woman, 'thought there'd be more people there to ask around there. And I reckoned he could probably do with a cup of hot tea or something. Bet you he's still there now.'

'Thank you,' Lizzie gasped, 'you don't know what good news that is to me. Where's the shelter?'

The woman pointed up a side street. 'Up there, just the other side of the train station.'

'Thank you, thank you so much!' Lizzie dug into her purse and offered her a handful of coins, but the woman shook her head, lighting up one of the cigarettes.

'Consider it my good deed for the day,' the woman replied.

She watched the red haired Scottish girl grab her two friends excitedly and pull them up the side street, towards the shelter. She took a drag of the cigarette and shook her head.

'Poor cow,' she muttered to herself. 'There but for the grace of God…'

-x-

'Right…' gasped Lizzie, turning around in the station car park, 'right…'

'I can't see a homeless shelter,' said Lynda, 'can you?'

'It's supposed to be just the other side of the train station,' Lizzie told her for the seventh time.

'According to some bag woman who's probably out of her face on boot polish,' Lynda replied.

Liz turned on her. '_You're_ the one who believed in Rickmansworth…'

'I didn't _believe_ in Rickmansworth, Liz. I'm not a Rickmansworth Witness or anything. I just worked out that he'd be here. And I was right, wasn't I?'

'…you lost, then…?'

'Ladies, please…' insisted Spike. He broke off suddenly, realising that the last voice that had spoken hadn't been a familiar one. He turned his head and looked down. On the ground of a dark corner of the car park, next to a narrow alley leading around the back of the station, sitting on an opened cardboard box and nursing a flagon of strong cider was a large, bearded man in his 50s. Despite their previous dependence upon help from the homeless all evening, there was something about this one man that Spike didn't like, didn't trust. Maybe it was Spike's natural talent for reading people. Or maybe it was the fact that the man was twice his size and leering dangerously.

'We're OK, thanks.'

Liz blinked at Spike, then back at the car park, searching for an exit. She pointed at a dark pathway at the far end of the tarmac. 'What about that cycle path?'

'We are not asking that psychopath,' hissed Lynda, mishearing.

'You looking for someone, then?' asked the bearded man in a louder voice. 'Let me help, I might've seen them.'

'Well…' muttered Liz to the others, 'you never know. If Colin passed this way looking for the shelter he would probably have spoken to this guy.'

'I don't know…' muttered Spike.

Liz turned and took a couple of steps towards the man. 'I'm going to ask him.'

Spike grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. 'No you don't. If anyone's gonna do something that stupid it should be me.'

'We'll _all_ go,' Lynda told them both.

Hesitantly, the three of them approached the bearded man.

Spike cleared his throat. 'Yeah, um…' he took the photo out of Lizzie's hand and held it out to him. 'You haven't seen this guy tonight, have you?'

The bearded man squinted at the photo. 'Not sure… can't see too well.'

Spike took another step towards the man, so he could see the photo better. 'He might have been asking where the shelter was, or asking after a girl.'

'A girl…' muttered the man, 'a girl… could you bring that picture down to me…?'

Spike crouched down in front of the man, who took the photo from him, peering at it.

'It would've only been half an hour or so ago,' Spike added.

'How old?'

'Twenty-one. Look, you can see… can you remember?'

'Twenty-one,' sighed the man. 'Those were the days…'

'Sure. But have you…'

'How old are _you_?'

'Same.' Spike frowned. 'Um, listen, thanks for your time, but we should probably get going…'

'School friends, are you?' added the man. 'Were you at school together?'

'As a matter of fact… can I get that photo back please?'

The man leered up at Spike. 'Did you wear a uniform?'

Spike waved the women away behind him, not seeing that they were both refusing to budge. 'We have to get going.'

'Did you have to wear a uniform?' continued the man unabated, 'did you ever get the cane? Did you ever… experiment at school?'

Liz sidled up to Lynda urgently. 'Get your phone,' she hissed out of the side of her mouth, 'I think we might need it.'

'We really have to go now,' replied Spike with a tight, polite smile. He began to get to his feet, but the man grabbed his wrist, pulling him down.

'Get your phone out, get your phone out…' whispered Liz.

'Um…' muttered Lynda, frantically rummaging through her full bag.

Something glimmered in the man's free hand.

'Ah, Jesus…' panicked Spike, desperately clawing at the fist that was grabbing his arm.

'Do you know what this is?' the man asked. 'Do you know what this is?'

'Um… yep,' stuttered Spike, still trying to prize the man off him, 'I'm pretty sure that's a box cutter. Am I right?'

'Lynda!' Liz insisted to her foraging Editor, 'hurry!' Liz tried to dart to Spike's aid, but the bearded man waved the box cutter menacingly at her, forcing her back.

The bearded man turned the blade back to Spike and resumed bombarding him with questions. 'Did you used to touch yourself? Did you do it in the mirror? Did you have showers with the other boys?'

'Oh God, oh God…'

'Lynda, hurry!'

'Do you know what _this_ is?' added the bearded man, indicating to the flesh that was now protruding from his flies.

'Jesus!' screamed Spike, pulling at his trapped wrist.

'_Lynda_!'

Lynda grabbed hold of her phone and pulled it out of her bag.

'Lynda,' yelled Spike, 'do something!'

The bearded man was suddenly hit on the temple by a large, flying mobile phone. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he slumped sideways, releasing Spike's arm. The American got to his trembling feet, scooping up the hurled device, and hurried towards the two women. He handed the phone back to Lynda. She put her arms around him briefly. He gratefully received the hug for a second before moving away.

'We gotta get out of here before he wakes up.'

'I agree,' said Lynda. 'Are you OK?'

Spike nodded. 'Thanks to your killer aim. C'mon. Let's try that pathway.'

They turned and broke into a jog towards the cycle path.

'You know,' Liz said to Lynda, 'I kind of meant you should use the phone to call the police.'

'Really?' Lynda replied. 'My way was much faster.'

-x-

Anita Baker was just getting to leave the shelter after her evening of providing hot soup to those unfortunate to need it when three youths crashed in. From the looks of them they weren't homeless, although they didn't look like the types who would turn up to cause trouble either.

'Hi, can I help you?'

'This _is_ the homeless shelter, right?' asked the young man – an American.

'Of course it's the homeless shelter,' hissed a dark haired girl at his side.

'Well it's not exactly signposted,' snapped the American in reply.

Anita gave them a small, polite smile. 'Sorry about the lack of any neon signs,' she told them, 'but this is the shelter, yes. How can I help you?'

The other girl – a short lass with dyed hair – piped up. 'We're looking for our friend. We were told he might have come here.' She pulled out a purse and opened it. 'Bugger,' she muttered in a Glaswegian brogue, 'you left the photo, Spike.'

'You'd recognise him if you saw him,' the American told Anita earnestly, 'he would probably be wearing a suit. My age, about five foot five… five six… mostly eyebrows…'

Anita laughed a little. 'Yes, I think I know the gentleman in question. I'm certainly glad he's got friends who are looking out for him, although I'm afraid you've just missed him.'

The Scot sighed. 'You're joking.'

'I'm afraid not,' Anita replied. 'I managed to get some soup and a cup of tea into him – he was in need of it. Apparently a couple of undesirables had managed to get his coat off him this afternoon, including his wallet, so he was a bit cold and miserable.'

The red haired girl put her hand over mouth. 'Oh, God! Why didn't he stay here for the night?'

'Well, he was a bit surprised as to where he was, to be honest. He seemed to think he should be in Inner London, for some reason. So he's gone to the station to see if the trains are still running to Marylebone. He seemed to think he'd be able to sweet talk his way on for free.'

The Scottish girl paled, looking from the American man to the Brunette. 'The station?'

Anita nodded. 'To be honest though, the trains might have stopped by now. And he literally left five minutes ago. You should be able to catch up with him…'

The Scottish girl turned to her friends. 'Oh God, he's gone to the station! Scary Beardy Knife Man's station!'

'Shit!' exclaimed the American, turning on his heels towards the door.

With a frown, Anita stopped the dark haired woman. 'What does she mean?'

'The guy who sits in the station car park,' replied the woman curtly, trying to follow the other two. 'Big bloke? Ginger beard? Hobbies include drinking, drooling, stabbing and flashing?'

'Oh Christ.' Anita released the woman, who broke into a run after the others who were already out of the door. Anita recognised that description – and how. Alan was back. It didn't make any sense – he was supposed to still be in prison. She reached for the phone, and dialled 999.

'Police,' she told the operator, and waited for the next person to come through on the line. 'I think you need to send a van down to the Rickmansworth railway station, right now… It's a man called Alan Morris. I think he might have escaped or something, because… that's right. _That_ Alan Morris. The Railway Rapist. He's back.'

-x-

Liz ran. She sprinted down the pitch black cycle path, boxed in by a hedge on one side and a fence on the other, and God alone knew what on the ground. At one point she must have tripped because she found herself on all fours, filthy gravel biting into her palms and knees. The adrenaline was pumping so hard that she didn't even notice any pain, and was up and running again before Spike had time to catch up to her and help her to her feet. Before she even reached the car park she heard the voices that made her heart leap into her throat.

-x-

'Do you know what this is…?'

'They took my coat. They took my coat! I don't have any money!'

'Do you know what this is?'

'I don't have anything to give you. Let me go… let me…' Colin winced as the man pushed the box cutter's blade against his throat.

'They put me away.'

'Did they…? That's… terrible, I'm sure you didn't deserve…'

'Banged me up! For years and years! I only wanted a bit of _company_!'

Colin swallowed hard. 'Doesn't everybody?'

The man stared at him, and slowly drew the blade away from his skin.

'We all of us get lonely, some times,' added Colin in a placatory tone, 'it's nothing to be ashamed about…'

'Some kids hit me tonight,' added the man in a softer tone, 'look.' He pointed at a bruise on his temple.

'That's awful,' consoled Colin as he took a sidestep away. 'Shameful. Thugs.'

'Whores,' replied the man. 'Filthy, cheating whores.' He reached inside his pocket and unfolded a photo, showing it to Colin. 'Do you know what this is?'

Colin paled. 'Where did you get that?'

'Do you know what this is?'

'Who gave that to you?' Colin reached out to the photograph, but the man jumped suddenly, pushing the blade into the valley between his Adam's Apple and his chest.

'Whores!' screamed the man, 'whores! You're one of them, you're the worst one. I know what you are.'

'Wait…' attempted Colin, but scratch of the blade digging into his skin stopped him.

'He said you were friends at school,' the man seethed, pinning Colin between the wall and his knife, 'he said you used to watch him in the shower, he said you used to touch each other, didn't you, you little whore…'

'I need to go now,' squeaked Colin, 'I've got a train to catch, I…'

With his free hand, the man grabbed Colin's hair and began to pull him towards the dark, narrow gap between the back of the station and the wall of the next building. 'How many have you had? Do you like them big?'

The sharp sting of the blade intensified. He could feel something wet soaking into his collar. 'God…' it was Cooper all over again. Only Cooper hadn't been obsessed with obscenity and had never had such a worrying bulge in his trousers.

'I bet you do. I bet you squeal. Do you squeal…?'

There was a flash of red, and a fist flying from the darkness. It hit the man hard on the cheek, forcing him to stumble. Colin fell back, just in time to see Elizabeth Fish bring a second fist down into the man's crotch. The man gasped and collapsed, as if all the air had suddenly been squeezed out of him, dropping his knife as he did. Liz kicked the box cutter, sending it skittering down the dark alley.

'…Fish…?' asked Colin.

Liz ignored him, concentrating on the bearded man. She brought her fists down on his hunched back, throwing him flat on his face.

There was the sound of sirens. Lynda was suddenly at Colin's side.

'What are you doing here?'

'Ssshhh. You're bleeding.'

Colin put his fingers to his throat. There was a shallow cut across it, around two centimetres wide. The wet sensation on his collar was from a thin stream of blood trickling from it.

'I've had worse.'

'I don't doubt it.' Lynda looked up. 'Liz, stop that!'

Lizzie hadn't stopped once the man was down. She was kicking him repeatedly in the back and screaming. Spike tackled her, pulling her back.

'I'll kill him, Spike, I'll kill him!'

'No you won't. You're not gonna go to prison for this bastard. Let's just go, OK? Let's make sure the police knows about what he tried to do and go.'

'I've got a feeling we might not have to,' added Lynda. 'Hear those sirens?'

They paused, listening as the sirens became louder and closer, until a riot van and a squad car turned the corner and pulled up in the car park. The squad car opened and a couple of large policemen jumped out.

'Well,' muttered the older of the constables, 'it looks here like we've missed the action. Has Alan here been up to his old tricks again?'

'_Old Tricks_?' Lizzie ejaculated. 'In the course of half an hour he's assaulted two men. At knife point. He wanted to… do things…'

'Yeah,' sighed the older policeman, 'that's Alan for you. They don't call him the Railway Rapist for nothing.'

'You…' Spike stuttered, 'you know about this guy?'

'Course I do,' said the older policeman as he handcuffed Alan Morris, 'I'm the one who nicked him in the first place!'

'So how long ago did he escape?' Lynda asked.

'Escape?' the constable snorted. 'He's been out on parole for a fortnight now.'

'Parole…?' echoed Spike.

'They said he was no longer a threat,' sniffed the policeman, 'that he'd cleaned up his act and was capable of re-integrating. Still. Isn't that what they always say?'

'_Parole?_' repeated Spike.

'Cheaper than incarcerating him for his full sentance,' explained the policeman. 'I don't make the rules up. Still, if you'd care to make formal statements it would help us to put young Alan away for a long, long time.' He looked the groaning drunk up and down. 'I shall turn a blind eye to a couple of minor injuries on his person,' he told Spike, 'since they were clearly obtained while you were defending yourself…'

'Actually, it was her.' Spike nodded down to the small, angry woman that he was still restraining.

The constable raised an eyebrow. 'Really?'

'She's Glaswegian,' explained Spike.

The policeman nodded, apparently satisfied by that logic. 'Well, let's get you in the van, Alan…' he turned to Liz. 'You said he had a knife…?'

Liz jerked her head at the narrow alley. 'Kicked it down there.'

'Very good.' The constable turned to his younger colleague. 'Fetch the evidence would you, McNally.'

Constable McNally tutted. 'Do I have to?'

'Go!' ordered the older policeman, bundling Morris into the riot van.

With Morris out of her reach, Spike finally released Liz. She wrenched herself away from the American, and made a bee line for Colin.

'Fish…' Colin gasped, holding his arms out to her, 'you…'

Liz slapped him, hard, on the face.

'You stupid bastard!'

She hit him again, and again and again.

'You idiot! You stupid, stupid idiot!'

McNally hurried towards her. 'Hey…'

'It's all right,' Lynda told the policeman as she stood next to a cowering Colin, cheerfully refusing to intervene against Lizzie's onslaught, 'he's her Boyfriend.'

'You idiot! You moron!' Liz began to sob. She gave Colin one last, half-hearted punch on the chest before she held him tight, crying into his shoulder. 'You could have been killed. I could have lost you.'

'You came to find me,' Colin whispered. 'You shouldn't have. I hate seeing you cry.'

'I was so worried.' She sniffed. 'You can come home now. That'll make me smile.'

'Oh, Liz.' Colin sighed. 'You came to stop me. You want me to stop. But I can't. I can't stop.'

'Come home,' sobbed Liz. 'Come home! It's too dangerous. You're… I don't think you're very well right now. I think you need help.'

Colin stared at her. 'You're right. I'm not. And I do. But so does she. And if it's dangerous for _me_ out here, God knows what it's like for her on the streets…'

'She's not on the streets, Colin,' interrupted Lynda.

'You don't know that…'

'Yes I do.' Lynda paused, working out the best way to put what she had to say. 'Julie rang me earlier this evening. I haven't told the others because I thought you deserved to be the first to know. She'd had a call from Mrs Watkins. Cindy came home late this afternoon. She hadn't been to London. She'd been to St Margaret's church. Apparently she'd visited her Granddad's grave, then spent the rest of the day thinking, praying and occasionally pestering Nuns about what you have to do to join the Sisterhood. The message that was passed on to me is that she feels she owes both you and Lizzie an apology.'

'She's safe?' Managed Colin.

'She's safe, and home, and warm and dry,' replied Lynda, 'which is more than can be said for you. Your little self-destruct mission has been pointless, I'm afraid.'

It was as if Lynda had flicked an Off Switch on Colin. Without another word he barrelled forwards, noisily throwing up the little he'd eaten that day. Once he was empty he tried to right himself but reeled too far backwards. His eyelids flickered shut and, before Liz could catch him, he collapsed in a muddy heap across two parking bays.

'Have I killed him?' Lynda asked Liz and Spike as they rushed to his aid.

Spike looked up. 'No. I think he's fainted.'

Lynda sighed. 'Damn.'


	22. Another Fine Mess 6

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Another Fine Mess

-x-

Six

-x-

The street had obtained that total silence that only ever comes in those few cold, strange hours before dawn. The stillness was thick, giving the impression that the whole world was asleep. The low growl of a car's engine slowly crept in on the silence, and after a moment, headlights pierced the darkness. A red Ford Granada pulled up on the street, still humming to itself.

Lynda started awake.

'Home again, home again,' yawned Spike.

In the back seat, Liz yawned. 'What time is it?'

'Late,' Spike replied. 'Real late. So late it's early, in fact.'

Lynda checked her watch and groaned. 'We'd have been back hours ago if we hadn't been buggering around at the Police station…'

'You'd have Alan the Rapist wandering the streets?' replied Spike, tersely. 'I wouldn't put it past those damn jobsworth Cops…'

'And _then_ we had to go to the A&E because you insisted this one got a tetanus jab for that scratch,' Lynda added, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards Colin.

'I'm a regular bleeding heart, huh.' Spike craned his head around to the back seat. 'Colin, are you gonna get out or do we have to sit around in this damn car for the rest of the night?'

Colin didn't reply. He hadn't spoken since he'd come round. He just sat, staring out of the window, dark semicircles beneath his eyes. Liz took his hand. 'Come on, Sir. I'll look after you.'

Lynda turned around. 'Listen… don't bother coming in today, OK? Neither of you. You both need a good rest.'

Liz frowned. It wasn't like Lynda to hand out days off. 'You sure?'

'Don't get me wrong,' added Lynda, hurriedly, 'I still want your Industrial Park Blaze story and the April sales targets on my desk tomorrow. I'm expecting you both to do at least a _bit_ of work from home.'

'Thanks, Lynda.' Liz opened the car door and pulled Colin out, towards his house.

'That was very good of you,' Spike told Lynda as he pulled away from the kerb.

'Well,' yawned Lynda, 'if I didn't let them take time off I couldn't very well get away with sleeping in 'til lunchtime myself, could I?'

Spike laughed, shaking his head. 'Lynda, Lynda, Lynda. What happened to the crazy young thing who could pull off 36 hour shifts with no stimulation except a few strong cups of coffee and a devilishly handsome street reporter at her side? You must be getting old.'

'Keep talking like that and you'll be getting dead.' Lynda leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. 'Home, James.'

-x-

Colin stood on his own doorstep, breathing vapour.

'Honey,' he murmured under his breath, 'I'm home.'

The hallway light flicked on inside, and his front door opened with a click, swinging open to reveal Liz Fish on the other side.

'Fancy seeing you here,' she said, standing aside to let him through. 'That bathroom window was a tight squeeze, you know. You'd only left it ajar. Good job you did though, I suppose. We'll get your locks changed in the day, and remind me to remind you to call the bank and report your cards as stolen.' She shut the door behind him and guided him up the stairs. 'I started running you a bath, by the way. You're half frozen and you kind of stink. You don't have any Radox though – what's up with that? I put some of my bubble bath in there instead. The aromatherapy one. It's Ylang Ylang… did I pronounce that right? Is the "Y" silent, do you know? Anyway, you're going to smell a bit girlie for a while, but it's a damn sight better than what you smell of at the moment…' She dragged him into the bathroom, closing the door behind them. The hot tap was on at full whack, and the bath was filling up with hot water and feminine smelling bubbles. Liz started unbuttoning Colin's shirt. He brought his hand up to stop her, but she batted it away insistently.

'Come on,' she said, 'I've seen it all before.'

Colin made no more attempt to resist her, but allowed her to fuss over him. He drew the line at receiving help getting into the bath and sat amongst the warm foam with a sullen silence.

'There now,' said Liz, settling herself down on the toilet lid. 'That's a wee bit better, eh?' She kicked off her boots, rubbing her feet against each other. 'Were you awake when Lynda said she was going to give Cindy's Mum a call later today?'

She paused. Still Colin didn't reply.

'She just wanted to go over it herself, rather than through Julie,' Liz continued, 'make sure Cindy's doing all right… um…'

'…make sure she's going to put those rumours to rest so I can keep my nose clean,' Colin interjected. 'Yeah, I was awake.'

'Ah,' nodded Liz. 'I thought you were asleep.'

'No.'

'Huh.' Liz paused, and cast him an impish glance. 'So you're talking now.'

'Sounds like it.'

'Want to talk about what happened yesterday?'

'Not really.'

'Colin,' sighed Lizzie, 'I'm worried about you.'

'What's talking going to do about it?' Colin replied. 'It's just going to make you more worried.'

'No, Colin. Talking is going to make both of us feel much better about all of this. It's not as if you're sheltering me from anything by keeping schtum.' She paused for a moment. 'You had a serious breakdown.'

'I didn't have a breakdown, Liz.'

'Of course you did! I was witness to it.'

'It wasn't a…'

'You walked for eighteen miles in a straight line. You didn't even know where you were. That is not the behaviour of a healthy person!'

'I know it's not. But it wasn't a breakdown.' Colin looked away from her. He wasn't sure how to go on – whether he should go on at all. He didn't know whether he wanted anybody to know about what had really happened, let alone somebody who he liked so much. Unfortunately, while his brain pondered this, his mouth continued to talk, unchecked. 'This sort of thing happens too often to be a "breakdown".'

'This has happened before?'

'Not the same thing, obviously, but the same kind of thing, with the same reasons behind it. What happened yesterday… it was what they call an Episode. Just a bit of a…' he took a deep breath, gearing himself up to say the dreaded word, 'Manic Episode. That's all. Can I have my towel now? I want to get out.'

'Colin.' Liz blinked at him, slowly, sadly. The penny had dropped. God, she looked so upset – so… disappointed. He stared at his knees. 'You're Bipolar, aren't you?'

Colin said nothing, didn't lift his head. A droplet of saltwater fell into the bath with an unhappy "plink". He caught the second one with his hand before it could fall.

'Stupid.'

'Oh, no. Oh honey it's not stupid, it's…' She reached across and laid her hand on the back of his head. 'It's not stupid. Would it make you feel bad if I told you I sort-of suspected?'

'Yes.'

'OK then, I won't say it.' She paused. 'So that's why you didn't want me to start chatting with your family. You didn't want me to find out from them.'

Colin snorted softly. 'I didn't want you to talk to my family because they're all awful.'

'You don't mean that,' smiled Liz.

'My Dad's a bastard, my Mum's an Ice Queen, my sister's a brat. Do you think any of them know what's wrong with me? Think any of them care? No one knows, Fish. You're the only person I've told.'

'Not even Lynda?'

'Not even.' He looked across at her. 'I trust you, Fish. Don't tell anyone? I don't mind people thinking I'm a bit mad, or a bit weird, but this is different.'

'It's nothing to be ashamed of…'

'Mental Illness? You think that's nothing to be ashamed of? Are you kidding?' He fought back more tears. 'It's a handicap. I'm not supposed to be handicapped. I'm not… disabled. Billy is disabled!'

'You're not disabled. Like me being Dyslexic doesn't make me disabled. It just makes life a little more challenging, that's all.'

'I _feel_ disabled,' sighed Colin into the bathwater. 'I have to take pills like a Spazz. Prozac, of all things! Can you believe, I'm on Prozac?'

'Actually, I think most people who know you would find it very easy to believe you're on Prozac.'

Colin stared at her, failing to find her comment funny. Liz cleared her throat and tried a more sensitive tack.

'D'you have to take it every day?'

'I'm supposed to take it more often than I do,' Colin admitted, 'I really just take it when I'm very low. I like to ride the Manic periods out, 'cause most of the time I get a lot of good work done on them…'

'…only, some of the time they make you walk through London without a coat,' continued Liz, tentatively adding 'and some of the time they make you step in front of a twitchy gunman.'

Colin half-smiled, bitterly. 'Do you know, I honestly thought I could talk everybody to safety? Better than the police… better than Lynda Day. I remember Sarah's Mum had seen the Police cars heading to the old newsroom and followed them, and she started crying, crying that her baby was in there, and I just thought "yeah, a lot of people's babies are in there", and in I went, thinking I was John Wayne or something. What was I thinking? But I was 18, and 18 year olds are immortal, you know?'

Liz smiled to herself. 'I know.'

'But I wasn't immortal. All I felt was a sharp pain, like a nail jabbing into me, and then nothing. Turns out I was going into shock, but I thought I was dying. I thought I was going to die just because I'd pissed someone off, and I thought about all the other times that could have happened to me before, with all the stupid things I'd do and all the circles I'd mix in, it was a miracle I'd got away with it for so long.' He paused. 'I crashed. Emotionally, I mean. I'd never been so low. I was catatonic for days. They thought I was just still in shock. And then a counsellor came. Routine part of victim support, they said, they'd sent one to all the others too, they said.' He cast Liz a cautious look. 'She was pretty.'

'We all are,' Lizzie replied quickly.

'So I started gabbling away, like I do,' Colin continued, 'about what happened that day and how I was feeling now, and this and that, the past, stuff like that… and she pointed out that my whole life… my _whole life_ has been full of these wild peaks and troughs. Running around on a high that makes me king of the world, this faultless, untouchable genius one minute… the next, despair. Despair at myself, and what a useless, friendless, pointless person I am.'

'You're not useless.' Liz reached over and passed Colin a towel. 'UpStart would fall apart without you. And, do you know what, I think Lynda Day might too.'

Liz politely, if needlessly, turned her head as Colin hauled himself out of the bath.

'You're certainly not friendless,' she continued, 'because _I_ like you. And as for "pointless", well, you make me smile. Now you might not think that's the most vital raison d'etre in the world, but it's certainly important to me.'

Colin perched on the side of the bath. 'I wish it was that easy. Could you pass me my toothbrush?'

Liz squeezed a little toothpaste onto his toothbrush and passed it to him. 'Do the tablets work?'

Colin shrugged as he brushed his teeth. 'They're getting worse,' he told her with a mouthful of foam. 'More frequent, and more extreme. But that might have happened anyway, after Cooper shot me and all that…'

Lizzie's jaw dropped. 'It was _Cooper_ who shot you?'

Colin did a double take, his toothbrush still lodged in his mouth. 'Bollocks!'

'I thought you guys all said Cooper was the victim…?'

'It's a long story.' Colin leaned over and spat toothpaste foam down the sink. 'Promise you won't breathe a word.'

'Sure,' nodded Liz. 'You can tell me about it some other time. I think I've heard enough Long Stories for today.' She got to her feet. 'Let's get some kip.'

'Hmm.' Colin followed her from the bathroom to the bedroom. 'You know, whenever I thought about telling you all of this I imagined you'd want to know everything about it there and then, sit up talking and talking 'til dawn…'

Liz indicated to the crack in the bedroom curtains as she speedily, unromantically disrobed. 'It _is_ dawn, Sir.'

Colin glanced at the window. 'Well spotted, Fish.' He clambered into bed. 'Night, then.'

Lizzie joined him, shivering.

Colin sucked through his teeth. 'Your feet are freezing.'

'You smell gay.'

'That's your fault. Put some socks on!'

'I cannae go to bed with my lovely boyfriend wearing nothing but a pair of socks! It's not very sexy, is it?'

'You'd be sexy in a pair of fishing waders and a Noel Edmonds Jumper. Now stop complaining, I'm trying to sleep.'

'OK,' conceded Liz, quickly pulling on an odd pair of socks that she found on the floor and getting back into bed.

'Night night,' muttered Colin.

'Night,' Liz yawned. 'Love you,' she added, conversationally.

Colin opened his eyes and turned to look at her for a moment. 'Love you too,' he replied, rolling over again.

And then they fell asleep.


	23. Resistance 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Resistance

-x-

One

-x-

hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, h-hmm-hmm-hmm…

'Stop that!'

hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, h-hmm-hmm-hmm…

'Do you hear me, Lynda? Stop it right now!'

Lynda raised her eyebrows, innocently. 'What?'

'Stop humming.'

'Why should I?'

Spike glared at her.

'Because you're not humming for me.'

Lynda flicked him a quick, sideways glance. 'Tell me, Spike. If the moon got in front of you, would there be an eclipse?'

'What?'

'Because I just always assumed that it was our nearest giant sphere of self contained nuclear fission that this planet revolved around, not some diminutive Yank who still thinks that it's cool to dress like The Fonz.'

She tried to pick up a folder full of dockets, but Spike snatched them from her hand.

'You never hum for me any more,' he complained, 'and now you're humming for another guy?'

'Spike, I am not humming for another guy!'

'Why are you humming?'

'I don't know! I'm just cheerful!' She grabbed the folder back.

'And why are you so cheerful today?' he wrenched the dockets back out of Lynda's hands. 'Have you won big money on the gee-gees? Bought a lovely new pair of shoes, perhaps? Reduced a large group of small children to tears before breakfast, maybe…? Or, did you by chance get an international phone call early this morning?'

Lynda just stared at Spike.

'Perhaps,' continued the American, 'detailing a certain somebody's plans to visit in a couple of months?'

Lynda reached across and pulled the folder forcefully out of Spike's grasp. 'Ridiculous.'

'When's he visiting, Lynda? May? June? July?'

'I don't know what you're talking about…'

'The song you were humming,' continued Spike, 'you do know what the words are, don't you?'

'I was just humming! Good God, Spike, I had no idea you could be so paranoid…'

'My Boyfriend's Back.'

Lynda looked up from the folder in irritation. 'What?'

'The words go "Hey-ya, Hey-ya, my boyfriend's back".'

Lynda snapped the folder shut. 'Kenny is not my boyfriend!'

'Ah-ha!' Spike jabbed his finger at her. 'I _knew_ you were humming for him!'

Lynda drew breath to answer him, but was distracted by Colin doing something that could only be adequately described as Floating Past.

'What's up with him?'

Spike followed the beatific Financial Director for a moment, listening to the song the other man was singing under his breath. After a moment he darted back to his Editor's desk.

'Apparently,' he told her, conspiratorially, 'he's in love, he's in love, he's in love, he's in love, he's in love with a wonderful guy.'

'No,' replied Lynda, indicating to Colin's outfit, 'I meant, the Nun's Habit.'

'Oh.' Spike watched Colin as he drifted merrily through the newsroom in full Habit and Wimple, beaming widely at journalists as they stared at him in bewilderment. 'I figure this is the sort of day when it's best not to ask.'

'Oh, I get those too,' piped a voice from behind them. 'I call them "weekdays". Unless it's a Saturday.' Liz grinned, struggling out of her over-long scarf. 'Or a Sunday.'

Spike turned to Lizzie. 'So is the singing something you've done to him, or can we all thank Kenny coming back for that as well?'

Colin stopped in his tracks. 'He is?'

Lynda nodded. 'For a couple of months.'

Colin's grin hit its maximum wideness. 'So now I won't have to be Kenny any more either. Everything's coming up Colin today!'

He was about to add something else when a phone began to ring deep within his Cassock. He pulled the mobile out through his sleeve and answered it in a terrible fake Irish Falsetto.

'Hello?' he squeaked, wandering off, 'oh, hello again, Your Grace. So looking forward to meeting you at last…'

'Tell me,' huffed Spike, 'was there this much excitement when it was _me_ coming back from overseas?'

'Of course not, Spike,' Lynda answered him levelly. 'You never told us you were coming. You'd just show up, unannounced, like Tuberculosis.'

'Well then, ya should've been this excited every day I was away,' replied Spike, 'just on the offchance that I'd make an unscheduled return.'

'What does he mean, he "won't have to be Kenny"?' Liz asked with a slight frown, 'who is Kenny, anyway?'

Spike leaned in to Liz. 'Y'know that little cricket who's always tellin' Pinnochio to do the right thing? Well, imagine that, only bigger, dressed like the Man From C&A and with a haircut so precise the barber had to use a Spirit Level.'

'Shut up, Spike,' snapped Lynda. 'Don't listen to Spike, he's just jealous that I ever dare talk to more than one person with an Adam's Apple. Kenny's my best friend. Has been all my life, and apparently Jerkbrain here's got a problem with that.'

'He's her Boyfriend,' whispered Spike.

'He's a boy and he's my friend,' corrected Lynda. 'What's wrong with that?'

'Do you want to know what Lynda did to _my_ friends of the opposite sex…?' Spike asked a now thoroughly bewildered Lizzie.

'I let you be friends with Sarah!' Lynda exclaimed. 'And Lizzie's your friend, isn't she?'

'Exactly my point. Sarah doesn't count, and neither does Lizzie.'

'Oi!' interjected Liz.

'No offence, Liz, but you're taken and you're kinda nuts.'

Liz quirked an eyebrow at the American. 'Charmed. By the way, I meant to ask you guys before this conversation went even weirder than normal…' she dug in her pocket, pulling out a small object in her closed hand, '…either of you know what this is?' She opened her fist, showing Lynda and Spike the trinket that lay in the palm of her hand.

'That's…' Spike couldn't help but smile nostalgically. 'That's a blast from the past.'

'Did you get that from Colin?' Lynda asked her.

'Aye,' Liz replied, 'he said it was his last one, and he wanted me to have it. I thought he was going to give me a Rolo and I get _this_ thing instead.'

'His last one?' Lynda raised her eyebrows. 'Well, that took him long enough.'

'But what _is_ it? He looked so pleased when he gave it to me, I didn't have the heart to ask…'

Lynda reached over and closed Liz's hand around the gift. 'That, Lizzie, is a little piece of History. Treasure it.'

'But what does it do?'

'Anything you want it to,' Spike told her.

Liz opened her mouth to say something, then sighed in defeat. 'I need a cuppa. Youse lot are all bonkers today.'

Lizzie stalked off in the direction of the staff room, leaving Spike watching the strange expression on Lynda's face.

'And to think,' said the editor, quietly, 'it only took him five years…'

'Aren't we getting terribly nostalgic for the 6th Form this morning, Boss?'

Lynda flashed him a quick smile. 'They were good times.'

'You used to torment me back then,' Spike reminded her, stony faced. 'Mercilessly.'

Lynda nodded. 'Like I said; good times.'

-x-

Colin stopped briefly next to the Sales Team's Hot Leads board. Without breaking out of his smile he slapped the board so hard with a ruler that a passing reporter on a tea run dropped her tray.

'Why's The Venue still on this list, people?' he grinned, only remembering half way through to drop the phoney Irish accent. 'They should be in by now.'

'The manager won't go for it,' piped a young rep from the back, 'says he can't afford to advertise, what with the Recession…'

'Recession, Recession, Recession…' aped Colin, his grin growing ever more predatory. 'Black Wednesday was 18 months ago. That's not a reason, it's an excuse.'

'But if he hasn't got the money…' began another rep.

'He's got the money,' Colin snorted, 'he's got no reason not to advertise, he's just giving you Resistance because he doesn't know UpStart, he doesn't know display advertising and he's too lazy to find out. But _you_ know UpStart, and _you_ know what a sure thing advertising the live gigs would be for him. All you need to do is make him understand that.'

'But he's said No,' added the first rep, 'he's said No about ten times…'

'And you _understood_ him?' Colin replied.

Nobody answered.

'You need to strike the word "No" out of your Inner Dictionaries,' continued Colin. 'You don't know what it means. And you certainly never take it as an answer. If anything, "No" is a challenge – a call for you, personally, to come up with a reason for him to say "Yes". Understood?'

'You're cheerful today,' noted an older sales rep from the front.

'I'm on fire,' Colin beamed. 'Watch and learn, boys and girls…'

'Is it because The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music?' added the older rep, gesturing to the Habit with a smirk.

'One of these days, Tony,' sighed Colin, patiently, 'I hope you'll understand the empowering sensation of being In Love…'

'I've been with my boyfriend for nearly eight years now,' replied Tony, matter-of-factly.

Colin blinked. 'You've got a boyfriend, Tone?'

'Yes.'

'When did that happen?'

'Like I said,' smiled Tony, 'nearly eight years ago.'

'Well…' stuttered Colin, 'congratulations…'

Mrs Jenkins popped a confused looking head through the door from the receptionist's office. 'Um… there's a taxi here for a Sister Mercy Assumpta…?'

Colin sighed, relieved at the interruption. 'I've got to dash. Remember what I said, people. "No" is not an answer.'

-x-

Frazz sat at the window, watching with vague amusement as a man dressed as a Nun struggled into the back of a minicab.

'Frazz.' Lizzie drew up a chair next to him, a troubled look on her face. 'You'd tell me honestly if I… smelled bad… wouldn't you?'

'Course I would. Frazz took a sip of tea. 'Like I'd tell you if your roots needed doing, you had food on your chin or your boyfriend was a transvestite. Incidentally, your roots need doing, there's food on your chin and your boyfriend's a transvestite.'

Lizzie wiped the crumbs off her face. 'It's just that I had a bit of a crafty fag this morning,' she confided, 'and I brushed my teeth and stuff after, but… Julie mentioned something about a pong, and now I'm all paranoid that you can still smell it on me.'

Frazz leaned over and sniffed her. 'Just coffee and Weetabix, same as every morning.'

Liz frowned. 'Huh. Oh, by the way, can you tell me what this is?' She drew the mysterious object out of her pocket and showed it to him. 'Apparently it's the last of something. I just don't know what.'

Frazz smiled faintly, picking it up out of her hand. 'The last one, eh? Well, well, well.'

'And that's another thing!' Lizzie added. 'Every time I show it to one of the old school lot they smile, shake their heads and say "Well, well, well." Please, you've got to tell me. What does it all mean?'

'Congratulations, Liz.' Frazz placed the small, white plastic hemisphere back into her open palm. 'What it means is that you now, officially, Ping.'


	24. Resistance 2

Resistance

-x-

Two

-x-

'Hey, Colin.'

Whatever reply Colin had to give Spike was muffled out of all recognition as he rummaged through the back of a supply cupboard. Spike poked his head inside.

'Hey! What happened to your Wimple?'

'Took it back to the shop.' Colin glanced at Spike's bemused frown. 'Don't worry, Spike, I'd kept my receipt.'

'They have Wimple Shops these days?'

Colin turned back into the cupboard, ignoring the American's remark. 'Have you seen our slide projector? I've got a presentation this afternoon.'

'Really? I thought you'd just done the quarterly revue…'

'It's not a financial revue, it's… ah-ha! Here it is!' Colin backed out of the small cupboard, clutching a slide projector.

'Glad I could be of assistance,' Spike told him.

'Yeah, I owe you one,' replied Colin, failing to notice that Spike hadn't actually helped him whatsoever. 'Anyway, are you ever going to ask Lynda to marry you?'

Spike blinked, his mouth falling slack at the abruptness of Colin's question. 'What… _What?_'

Still hugging the projector, Colin continued to watch Spike intently. 'Are you ever going to ask Lynda to marry you?' he repeated.

'I… I'm struggling to think of the reason you could ever have for supposing that was any of your business whatsoever…'

Colin shrugged. 'I'm just curious. Did you know Tony in Sales is Gay?'

'Colin…' struggled Spike, 'you've met his boyfriend, like, three times. Why the Hell are you suddenly so interested in me and Lynda getting married?'

'That Bishop wasn't crooked after all,' muttered Colin, wandering off. 'The Cathedral's nice, though…'

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Oh God,' he sighed to himself. 'Please don't tell me he's stuck like this again.'

-x-

'You did your quarterly presentation weeks ago,' hissed Lynda angrily as UpStart's staff started settling themselves down in front of the projector, 'if anything's urgent enough to do another one about now it's something you need to run past me and Julie first!'

'That dodgy Bishop story's off I'm afraid, Lynda,' Colin told her, fiddling over the slides.

'We were never going to run a story about a crooked Bishop even if it _were_ true,' replied Lynda, 'I told you that several times… now will you just tell me what the Hell's going on? Why do you need my newsteam in here? They should be working.'

Colin smiled up at her. 'Trust me.'

'I have done,' Lynda told him through her teeth, 'for several months now, in spite of every ounce of common sense in my body. Don't make me start to regret that. I tend to express regret through stabbing people.'

Colin sprang to his feet, clearing his throat for attention. 'People? People. Hi. Everyone here?'

'What's this all about, Colin?' snapped Julie from a far corner.

'Get the lights would you, Julie, Kid?' Colin grinned at her.

Julie switched the lights off, grudgingly. 'This had better be good.'

'Lovely.' Colin beamed and clicked the first slide on to project on the screen next to him. 'Thanks for coming, everyone. This is just a very quick presentation-ette on a few crucial fact nuggets that have been coming to my attention lately.'

From his position by the door, Spike shared a concerned glance with Lynda.

'Item one,' continued Colin cheerfully, clicking a small graph onto the projector, 'when asked in a recent survey, nearly 50 percent of married people in the 20-40 year age bracket described their relationship with their Spouse as either "Very Good", "Good" or "Satisfactory". Item two…' he clicked onto a new graph. 'In in the same survey, 83 percent of unmarried women listed "a dream wedding" amongst the top five goals they hoped to achieve in the near future…'

'Where are you going with this?' piped Lynda with trepidation.

'Item three,' added Colin, merrily ignoring the Editor, 'Rochester Cathedral.' He clicked to a slide showing a publicity shot of the Cathedral. 'Very nice, lots of atmos, history a-go-go, possibility of a deal on their rates…'

'Why do you want us to hire a Cathedral?' Lynda asked.

'Come on, Lynda.' Colin offered Lynda a quick wink. 'Every romance gets to the point where you may as well just take the plunge, and I've decided that it's pretty much time that…'

'No, Colin!' Spike's voice was so sudden and violent that every eye in the conference room quickly turned to the American.

Spike took a deep breath, and brought his volume back to a speaking tone, fixing his gaze on Lynda.

'He's decided he wants us to get married,' he told her. 'And now – what? He's decided he's gonna be our Wedding Planner as well?'

'Spike…' attempted Colin.

'The Wedding Of Lynda and Spike – A CM Enterprises Venture, huh, Colin?'

'Spike…'

'How many times to I have to tell you to keep your damn nose out of our business?' Spike continued to rail at Colin. 'You thought you'd just hijack the newsroom and publicly harangue me into proposing, did you? Well, it's not gonna happen! Not now, not ever…'

Lynda stood up, angrily. 'What do you mean, "not ever"?'

'Well, from your reaction at the Christmas Party, I didn't think I'd…'

'You didn't ask at the Christmas Party!' Lynda shouted.

'But you thought I was asking…'

'But you weren't!'

'Guys?' Colin interjected, only to be cut off again.

'Ask me now,' Lynda ordered, folding her arms. 'Go on, I dare you.'

'I am not gonna propose to you on a dare, Lynda.'

'Chicken.'

'Lynda…' Spike warned.

'Guys? Guys.'

'Propose, damn it!' Lynda yelled.

'No!' Spike bit his lip. 'Move in with me.'

'No! Proposal or nothing!'

Spike threw his hands up in the air. 'That's just it with you, isn't it? There's never any room for negotiation…'

'No. The trouble here is that you're too scared to…'

They were both cut off by a loud blast of high-pitched, electronic sound. The attention in the room turned back to Colin, holding a blaring rape alarm above his head. After a moment he switched it off and waited briefly for the ringing in his, and everybody else's ears to fade.

'Hate to rain on your cornflakes, guys,' he said eventually, 'but I wasn't talking about you.' He sighed, clicking quickly through several more graphs and pie charts. 'Might as well skip to the end now, you two have sort of ruined this a little bit…'

He stopped the fast flicking catalogue of slides on one simple slide – white text on a bright red background. The message didn't take a second to read. This time, all the eyes in the room turned to Liz, who sat perfectly still, her gaze glued to Colin.

'What do you think?' Colin asked her in the awkward silence. 'I've, er…' he began to dig through his pockets. 'I've got a ring here somewhere…'

Spike gazed at Lynda. She was still staring at the message on the projector. He looked at it again himself. _Lizziefish_, it said, _will you mary me?_ Spike bit his lip. He had to get out of that room. The walls were beginning to close in. He lurched out through the door, slamming it shut again behind him.

'"Marry"s got two "r"s,' Lynda informed Colin, quietly.

'I know,' Colin replied through the corner of his mouth, 'I was a bit too excited to type straight.'

'S'OK,' added Liz, 'I didn't notice. Spelling's not exactly my forte.'

'So, what do you say, Fish?' Colin found the ring in his pocket and held it out to her. 'Oh. Or… or do you want me to get down on one knee or something?'

'No,' Liz breathed.

'You mean you… don't want me to kneel down, or…'

Liz looked around at the sea of faces surrounding her in embarrassment. She got to her feet, swallowing hard, and shuffled in close to Colin. 'I mean, No,' she whispered. She ran a light, apologetic hand down his arm. 'I'm sorry, sweetie. It's a No.'

-x-

Lynda settled herself back down at her desk.

'Well, that was fun,' she muttered, looking around the newsroom, 'where did Spike go?'

Julie craned her head around. 'He went off after you shrieked at him.'

'I didn't shriek at him, Julie. I do not shriek.'

'Well,' replied Julie with pursed lips, 'whatever it was you _did_ do to him, it seems to have got rid of him all right.' She pointed at his empty chair. 'And you wonder why he doesn't want to marry you.'

'Julie Craig, the day that Lord Lucan flies in to give himself up on the back of a large, airborne Warthog will be the day I start taking relationship advice from you.'

'Fine,' snarled Julie, pretending to get back to her work. A thought hit her and she looked up at Lynda again. 'One of these days you're going to push that man away for good, though. What'll you do the day he doesn't come back?'

'He'll come back,' Lynda replied, 'he always does. Can't get rid of him.'

The door of the newsroom slammed open and Spike marched through it towards Lynda, his face set with grim determination.

'See?' Lynda added.

'A word, Lynda?' Spike announced as he approached her.

'Just the one?' smirked Lynda.

Spike didn't stop at her chair, but passed her to stand expectantly in her office. 'Alone,' he clarified.

Lynda's expression fell from one of amusement to that of grim resolve. Slowly, deliberately, she pushed herself up to her feet and followed him into the office, closing the door behind her.

'Well?' she folded her arms at the American.

'What do you mean, "Well"?' Spike shook his head, trying to get his swirling thoughts into some kind of order. 'I just witnessed a proposal. I just saw somebody so positively certain about him and his girl that he thinks he can make it last forever… and that guy wasn't me, and the girl wasn't you. And that's wrong, isn't it?'

'Two seconds before, the very idea of proposing horrified you…'

'Exactly.' Spike sighed. 'Other peoples' love lives are whizzing along, and we're at a standstill. We're getting overtaken and we're just… just sitting here. Colin hasn't known Lizzie for six months. I've been completely, stupidly in love with you for five goddamn years, and what've I got to show for it? A car. That's it. Half a freakin' car.'

'You're the one who won't propose…'

'I _do_ want to propose, Lynda. Really, I do. But not yet.'

Lynda threw her hands up in the air. 'Well then, what the Hell are you complaining about?'

'Marriage is a big commitment, Lynda! I wanna take it seriously, I don't want to end up like my folks did, do you?'

Lynda just frowned at him.

'You and me,' continued Spike, 'we don't particularly Get On, in case you hadn't noticed… I need to know that we can live with each other.'

'You don't think you'd be able to live with me…?'

'At least I'm willing to try,' replied Spike. 'In fact, I want to try. Right now. Move in with me.'

Lynda pulled a face. 'What?'

'This is me being manly and assertive, Lynda. This is me putting my foot down. We're gonna go somewhere with this relationship. We're gonna keep this shark alive, and we are definitely not gonna get overtaken by Colizzie.'

'"Colizzie"?'

Spike shrugged. 'It's what the others've started to call 'em, behind their backs, of course. Apparently, they used to call us Spynda.'

'That's stupid.'

'Yeah, well, it seems they don't call us it any more.'

Lynda leaned against the office's thin wall. 'Liz said No, you know.'

Spike shook his head. 'Doesn't matter. They're still moving, and we're still not. I don't even make you hum any more.'

Lynda exhaled a long, deep breath, watching Spike intently. 'I won't be dictated to, Thompson. And I certainly won't move in with you just to satisfy your competitive nature.'

'Would you…' Spike ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. 'Would you at least think about it, Lynda?'

'I have.' Lynda turned away from him, leafing through a file. 'Shouldn't you be getting back to work? You've missed all morning so far.'

Spike sighed a long, weary sigh. 'You know what? Fine.' He walked to the door, but stopped and turned with an afterthought. 'I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this fight up, Lynda.'

Lynda kept her back turned to him, still flicking through the files until she heard the door shut behind her. Once she was alone she stopped, staring blankly at the wall, deep in thought. After a moment, she quickly nipped out of the office to her desk, grabbing her coat and bag.

Julie looked up. 'Are you off?'

'Important meeting.'

'When'll you be back?'

Lynda didn't reply, but hurried out towards the front door, bumping into a different Blonde woman in the doorway as she did.

'I got your letter,' Sarah told her with a small smile. 'But I can only work 'til the week after Easter, I've got revision to do…'

'Can you tell me later?' blustered Lynda as she headed outside, 'bit busy.'

'I've come straight from the coach station,' complained Sarah as Lynda rushed out. Sarah paused, and sniffed, and headed into the newsroom.

'Hello,' she murmured, 'me again.'

Almost all of the heads stayed down, except for Frazz, who looked up at her with a beam of sheer, excited joy.

'Sarah,' he cried. 'Brilliant news! Kenny's coming back!'

-x-

There was a long, long, sullen silence in the space behind the bins.

'Are we not talking any more?' asked Lizzie, eventually.

Colin paused for another good five seconds before answering her.

'I had it all planned out. It was going to be lovely.'

'I know.' Liz sighed. 'I'm sorry, Colin. It's just… it's not right. Not at the moment.'

'But I love you.'

'I love you too. I really, really do.'

'Then why won't you marry me?'

Liz snorted a short, ironic laugh. 'As much as I hate to bring it down to figures… I can't marry you because the numbers don't add up.'

Colin just frowned at her, quizzically.

'You're 21 years old, Colin. I'm only two years older myself. We've known each other for five months, been dating for four. And although I realised I'd fallen in love with you a while ago, we only said the dreaded L Word to each other three weeks ago. I've had two serious boyfriends… I'm your first girlfriend. The only person you've ever slept with…'

'All right, Lizzie,' hissed Colin, 'not so loud…'

'But you see what I mean, Colin? The numbers… they're all just too small.'

'Forget the figures,' Colin replied, intently. 'Let me worry about the figures. Just marry me. Please. I want to marry you.'

'It doesn't work like that.' Liz took his hands. 'Colin, I think you're going through another of your Manic patches.'

'It's not that.'

'Really? What's the betting if I asked you how many hours sleep you've had in the past three nights the answer would still be in the single figures?'

Colin opened his mouth to discredit her, then had to close it again when he realised she was right.

'It's the Mania that wants you to get married just like that, too fast, too soon, never mind the consequences, not you.'

'I _do_ want to marry you,' protested Colin, 'I love you.'

'I love you too. That's why I don't want to screw it up. Colin, you know I've been hurt. It wasn't a year ago that things fell apart with Andy…'

'Who's Andy?' Snapped Colin, jealously.

'My Ex from Uni. We've been through this…'

'Oh. Yes.' Colin dug his hands into his pockets. 'The one you were practically engaged to.'

Liz paused for a moment, frowning down at her boots. 'The one I _was_ engaged to.'

'Oh.' It took a second for the penny to drop. 'You were engaged?'

'Only for a couple of days,' Lizzie replied. 'We were young and stupid, and it blew up in my face, which nearly killed me. I can't go through that again.'

'It won't happen like that with us.'

'Scuse my pessimism, Sir, but you and me are pretty young and stupid too. I'm not going to set us up to fail.'

Colin opened his mouth again, then sighed, and put an arm around Lizzie.

'This isn't over you know, Fish.'

'I should cocoa, Sir.'

'I can't believe this wasn't even your first proposal.'

Liz looked up at him with a smile. 'If it helps, yours was the best. Andy never went to the trouble of doing graphs.'

-x-

It was gone six o'clock, and most of the staff of UpStart had gone home by the time that Spike finally wandered over to Colin's desk. The Financial Director seemed lost in thought, staring at the Sales Team's Whiteboard.

'Don't suppose you know where this "important meeting" of Lynda's is, do you?'

'Hmm?' asked Colin, barely there.

'Only she's been gone all day,' added Spike, 'and ever since she managed to half asphyxiate herself last year that sorta thing's made me kinda nervous…'

'They got The Venue, Spike,' muttered Colin.

'Huh?'

'They finally got The Venue to advertise,' explained Colin in a faraway voice, 'it took them months and months of rejection, but they did it. "No" is a challenge.' He turned and looked Spike in the eye. '"No" is not an answer.'

Spike snorted. 'You say that now, Colin. Come to me when you've been fighting as long as I have, and see if you still feel the same.' He looked around the empty newsroom. 'Aw, screw it. I'm goin' home.'

-x-

Spike knew that there was something wrong the moment that he got to his flat's front door and saw that it was left ajar.

'Crap!'

He pushed through quickly and ran into his flat… or what was left of it.

'Oh _Crap_!'

The small apartment had been completely gutted. Everything bar the most basic furniture was gone – he dashed through each room, pulling open drawers and cupboard doors, but it was no good. All of his clothes, books, his records, his nick-nacks, was gone. His safekeeping box with his passport and papers. Even his photos of his Dad.

'…no…' he breathed. He put his hands over his eyes and leaned hard against the bare wall. 'Oh God, please no. Not to me. Not today. I don't deserve this…'

'I know you don't,' came a prim, English voice from in front of him, 'you must just be lucky, I suppose.'

Spike pulled his hands away and looked at Lynda Day, standing happily in the middle of his pillaged living room.

'Ta-Dah!' She announced.

'Lynda?' Spike struggled to find the words. 'Lynda. Lynda, what the Holy Hell is this?'

'This is me being thoughtful and considerate,' replied Lynda. 'This is me letting you have it your way.'

Spike narrowed his eyes. 'You're moving in with me? What – you decided there wasn't room for you in here with any of my stuff in it?'

'Don't be silly, Spike. _I'm_ not moving in with _you_. I always said I wouldn't. _You're_ moving in with _me_. As from now.' Lynda stepped forward and pressed a small house key into Spike's hand. 'I thought I'd do the move for you and everything,' she added with a smile, 'they say moving can be very stressful.'

'God knows why,' Spike replied dryly, staring at the key.

'You really should have mentioned this was a competition with Colin and Lizzie before,' continued Lynda, 'I'm not going to be beaten at this game by a pair of Garden Gnomes. Besides, you're a good cook and I love you, and so on.'

'I'm living with a madwoman,' Spike told her, 'aren't I?'

'Maybe,' conceded Lynda. 'Let's go home. We're having Spaghetti.'

Spike allowed Lynda to lead him out of the empty flat. 'I didn't know you could cook Spaghetti.'

'I'm not cooking, Thompson. You are.'


	25. Resistance 3

Resistance

-x-

Three

-x-

At seven o'clock in the morning - as it did at seven o'clock every morning - the alarm clock in Spike and Lynda's bedroom began to trill merrily. Spike sat up in bed fuzzily, groping for the clock, only to find that it was at Lynda's bedside rather than his own. His girlfriend was already out of bed – he could hear the shower running. He groaned. For somebody who created such an impression that she cared nothing about her appearance, Lynda Day sure took an eternity in the bathroom. He tried to settle back into the bed, but it was no good. He was awake now, and growing ever more conscious of how full his bladder was. With a second groan, he dragged himself out of bed, carefully picking over the strewn clothes, books, newspapers and unpacked boxes of his things, which lay on the floor, and made his way to the bathroom door. He knocked, politely. Evidently, Lynda didn't hear him above the noise of the shower, so he knocked again, much harder.

'What?' called Lynda over the shower's torrent.

'You gonna be long in there?'

'As long as I need to be,' came the reply.

Spike sighed, and waited for a moment, gazing at the tights and polo shirt left to dry on the hall's radiator. He knocked again.

'I kinda gotta go.'

'Oh.' Lynda paused. 'Can it wait?'

'Not really.'

'Hmm. Well, the door's not locked, if it's that desperate…'

Spike stalled for a moment before deciding that it was that or going in the kitchen sink. 'OK… I'm coming in.'

He pushed on the door and shuffled into the steamy bathroom. He took a moment to admire the wet, naked young woman behind the transparent shower curtain.

'Now there's a sight for sore eyes,' he smirked.

Her hair plastered to her neck, Lynda opened one eye against the stream of hot water pouring over her.

'Get on with it, Spike.'

'Oh. Um. Sure.' Spike put the seat of the toilet up, positioning himself in front of the bowl. He cleared his throat. 'Could you turn your back or somethin'? I have trouble doing this with an audience.'

'I've closed my eyes,' replied Lynda, 'is that good enough?'

'Yeah. OK.' Spike relaxed. 'Ya didn't flush, by the way.'

'Well, I didn't very well know you were going to barge in on my shower.'

Spike grinned as he finished off. 'I'll go and make us breakfast.' Without thinking, he flushed the toilet. It only occurred to him that he shouldn't have when Lynda screamed.

'Sorry! Sorry, Lynda…'

'I've just scalded myself, you bloody Troglodyte! Get out!'

'Sorry… sorry…' Spike hurriedly washed his hands, only for Lynda to squeal again.

'What are you doing to my lovely warm water?'

'Ah, Geez…' Spike wiped his hands on the only towel he could find and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen. He filled the kettle and switched it on, peering at the car park over the road. He frowned. It was empty. It was usually filling up already by that time in the morning. He yawned, and switched on the radio, pulling a face at Lynda's choice of station and re-tuning it to something more contemporary. He fished around in a cupboard for something breakfasty which was still in its Sell By Date, plumping eventually for a bowl of Shreddies with a good helping of sugar on top. He leaned against the kitchen counter, eating his cereal and listening to the DJ. Something that the DJ said made him stop, and want to slam his head repeatedly in the washing machine door.

The bathroom door opened and Lynda wandered through in a towel.

'My towel's all wet,' she complained, 'you didn't wipe your grubby hands on it, did you?'

Spike finished silently counting to ten.

'It's Sunday, Lynda.'

Lynda cocked her head. 'And…?'

'We don't work Sundays.'

'So?'

'Lynda,' sighed Spike, putting down the bowl, 'Sunday is the one day of the week that I ever get to lie in. Why the Hell am I up a 7 AM on Sunday morning?'

'Well, how should I know?' Lynda started to pad her way back into the bedroom. 'I'm always up at seven, don't want to spend the whole day asleep. Shower's free, by the way.'

Spike shook his head. 'May as well,' he told himself, 'I'm awake now, after all.' He wandered back into the bathroom, dodging more boxes and piles of assorted brick-a-brack as he went, and got into the shower. He turned it on and waited for the water to turn hot. And waited. And waited.

'LYNDA!'

-x-

Liz stumbled over to the door, pulling her dressing gown about herself.

'Yes, all right, all right,' she told the impatient doorbell as it rang for the fifth time. She fumbled to unlock the door and opened it up to see the postman.

'What…?'

'Recorded Delivery, Miss,' the postman told her brightly, handing her an envelope and a form on a clipboard to sign.

Muttering ominous mutterings, Liz scribbled down her name on the form and passed it back to the postman. The man took a cursory glance at her signature and snorted with derision.

'Can't accept made-up names, Miss.'

Liz rolled her eyes. 'Not again. Fish _is_ my real name.'

'Don't be daft. Fish isn't a name.'

'Look. It might not be particularly common, or, indeed glamorous, but it really is my surname.' She showed him the front of the envelope. 'See?'

The postman turned the envelope around to show Lizzie the name that was written on the front of it. 'The letter's for an Elizabeth Mathews. That is you, I take it. Now, that's a proper name…'

Liz sighed. 'How much is he paying you?'

The postman frowned. 'How much is who paying me? I don't understand.'

'Funny…' continued Liz, 'I've never known a postman to deliver any mail, let alone stop over a while for a few well chosen personal insults… on a _Sunday_.'

Liz shot the postman a knowing glance.

'Ten quid,' he confessed. 'Fifty if you say "Yes".'

Liz handed the postman back the letter. 'He's got you on Commission?'

The postman shrugged. 'He wants results. Morning, Miss.'

Shaking her head, Liz closed the door again and went back to bed.

-x-

'Where are my socks, Lynda?'

Lynda looked up from her coffee and crossword.

'Aren't they still in your suitcase?'

'They were never in my suitcase,' came the irritated reply from the bedroom, 'my suitcase only had sweaters, hats, pants, boxers and – for some reason – the Indiana Jones Trilogy in. My socks _used_ to be in a box with my T-Shirts and fridge magnets, but they've all gone.'

Lynda took another calm sip and filled in 12 Across with the word "Malodorous". 'Oh yes,' she called, 'I kept treading on that box, so I unpacked it for you.'

There was a brief pause. 'Care to tell me where it is that you unpacked them to?'

'The sock drawer, of course,' Lynda replied.

'Which is where…?'

'Next to the pants drawer.' Lynda paused to write the word "Contralto" faintly in the newspaper's margin and frown at it. 'Top right.'

'I'm lookin' in the socks drawer,' replied the voice, 'all I can see are _your_ socks…'

'Yours are at the back. You might need to rummage a bit.' She scribbled out "Contralto" and wrote "Countertenor" confidently down the centre of the puzzle.

Spike poked a curious head around the bedroom door. 'You have pink socks? With kittens on them? And how's about _these_?' With a smirk, he showed Lynda a pair of socks with the image of two teddy bears having a tea party knitted into them.

'They're Sarah's,' Lynda replied hastily.

'Why would you have a pair of Sarah's socks in your dresser?' Spike padded barefoot into the kitchen. 'Hope ya left some coffee for me.'

'It's only instant.' Lynda stared at Spike's bare feet. 'You're not going to go around like that all day, are you?'

Spike shrugged. 'Couldn't find any socks. Why, what's wrong with goin' John McClane?'

'You've got weird feet.'

'Huh?'

She pointed at them. 'That one's bigger than that one.'

'That's because it got mushed into a fine pate by an exploding building a few years ago.' Spike frowned. 'Leave my feet alone, why don'tcha. I don't talk about your hairy butt.'

Lynda swallowed a mouthful of coffee much too fast. 'I have _not_ got a hairy bottom!'

'It _is_ kinda fluffy, Lynda.' Spike sat down at the table. 'I can get you the number of a beauty salon that can…'

Lynda hurled the nearest object to hand at him in a fit of pique. It flew past Spike's shoulder and smashed on a kitchen cabinet.

'Aaaand now we need a new sugar bowl,' added Spike. 'I love Sunday mornings, don't you? They're so chilled.'

Lynda sighed, and got up from her chair to fetch the dustpan and brush without a word. Spike watched her from his seat at the table.

'What?' he asked her, 'no comebacks?'

Lynda began to rummage through the cupboard under the sink, irritably pulling stacks of cooking utensils out of it and setting them noisily on the floor.

'I can't find a damn thing in this flat any more,' she complained as she searched, 'everything's choc-full of all your useless odds and ends.'

'You're the one who decided to bring all my stuff here, Lynda,' Spike replied, casting an eye over Lynda's crossword, 'and I'll have you know it is not "useless". I've always been a rolling stone. I don't gather moss.'

'Then what are _these_?' She pulled out a stack of four small ceramic pots.

'Those are my ramekins.'

She slammed another pan down. 'Why didn't you just tell me outright you were Gay?'

'Don't throw my things on the floor, Lynda.'

'Well, there's nowhere else to put them!' Lynda unearthed the dustpan from the back of the cupboard and turned to him. She blinked. 'Are you doing my crossword?'

Spike set the pen down. 'I've done, like, two answers. So shoot me.'

'That's my crossword, Spike!'

'I don't see your name on it…'

Lynda marched to the table, stepping over the shattered remains of the sugar bowl, grabbed the pen and wrote 'LYNDA' in large, angry letters over the top of the crossword.

Spike rolled his eyes. 'What the Hell is up with you, Lynda? _I'm_ the one who was woken up too early, who had to have a cold shower because you'd used up all the hot water, who can't find any of his socks…'

'Yes,' retorted Lynda, sharply, 'and you're the one who came up with this stupid idea in the first place.' She paced over to the broken bowl again. 'Why is this flat so small? It's never been this small before. Everywhere I look, it's either you, or pictures of you, or your bloody ramekins…'

'Screw this.' Spike got to his feet and turned to walk out into the hall. 'I haven't exactly had the best day so far myself, you know. I'm not gonna spend the rest of it dodging crockery.'

Lynda looked up from her sweeping. 'Where are you going?'

'Out.' Spike pushed his sockless feet into his trainers. 'I need a walk.'

'You can't go out for a walk! _I_ need a walk! You can't just stroll out and leave me here, sweeping the floor, like a…' A realisation hit Lynda, causing her to drop the dustpan as if it were on fire. 'Like a _Wife_,' she spat.

'I'm not stopping you from going out too,' replied Spike as he put his jacket on. 'In fact, I advise that you do get out for some space.' He regarded her, kneeling miserably amongst all the saucepans and unpacked boxes in the tiny kitchen, and sighed. 'You know what, I think you could be right. Maybe this isn't gonna work after all.'


	26. Resistance 4

Resistance

-x-

Four

-x-

It was Monday, and Lynda and Spike walked together to the office… after a fashion. They didn't speak a word to one another, and Lynda always sure that, no matter how much Spike tried to keep up her pace, she was all at least three steps ahead of him. After a while, he gave up and deliberately lagged behind, listening to his Walkman. As a result of this, he ended up walking into the newsroom a good two minutes after Lynda had arrived. He picked up a copy of UpStart as he walked in, pretending to study it in order to avoid the arched eyebrows of those who had noticed their separate entrances. He found himself automatically turning to the Property To Let section, despite himself. One of the pictured houses in the Rentals section made him double take, stopping in his tracks briefly. He frowned, and walked over to the Sales area of the large, open plan newsroom. The 'Sales Floor' was surrounded by several 6 foot high shelving units – most of which contained files, folders and sales resources crammed into the bottom half and had been overtaken by Colin's sprawling collection of several years worth of Bits And Pieces at the top. Colin was standing on a chair, searching the top shelf of one of such units when Spike found him. Spike drew breath to ask Colin a question, but the Englishman pre-empted him.

'Spike, you couldn't hold this chair for a sec? It's developed a bit of an off-putting wobble.'

Spike rested his weight against the chair's backrest, securing it as Colin leaned over precariously to a pile of telephone directories in the far corner.

'Cheers, Spike. You're a pal.' Colin didn't so much as glance down to look at Spike, but carried on searching above. 'Good weekend?'

'I've had better.' Spike grimaced slightly at the memory of his and Lynda's first weekend of Domestic Bliss. '_Much_ better,' he added.

'Hmm,' came the disinterested response.

'How's about you?' asked Spike in the interest of good manners.

'Ineffectual,' replied Colin.

Spike gave Colin's shoes a sly smile. 'Still saying No, huh?'

'Yeah. There's a tenner I'll never see again.'

'You offered her a tenner to marry you?'

'Of course not.' Colin sighed at Spike in the manner of a patient teacher trying to explain a simple premise to a dim child. 'I gave my cousin Neville a tenner to dress up as a Postman. Didn't work.'

'It didn't? A plan that subtle and complex? Colin, I'm shocked.'

'I know. She's not stupid, is my Fishie. Still.' Colin decided to try searching in the next shelf down. 'Perseverance. That's the key. Now, if only I could find this Blinking…'

'You're not looking for the slide projector again, are you?'

'Don't be daft, Spike… Oh. Here it is.'

Colin clambered down from the chair, a large, thick book in his hands. Spike cocked his head sideways to read the title.

'A phone directory for Glasgow…?' Spike queried. 'Colin, tell me you're not gonna…'

'Some girls like a more Traditional approach,' Colin explained calmly as he walked over to his office. 'And what father wouldn't like a call from his darling daughter's Significant Other asking for her hand in marriage? Besides,' he grinned, 'it'll really help my case if I can get her family on my side.'

'You don't even know their number,' Spike protested, following Colin into the office, 'what are you gonna do – just work your way through the phone book until you get the right one? Glasgow's a pretty big city, ya know, it'll take you all day!'

Colin sat down at his desk. 'Glasgow might be a big city, but Fish is an unusual name.' He started to flip through the phone book. 'Her dad's name is Bill. Bill, William, W Fish. Mr W Fish.' He stopped turning the pages and ran a finger down a column of names. 'There we go.' He pointed out the name to Spike with a victorious air. 'Mr W Fish. One entry. Didn't take long, did it?'

'Huh.' Spike nodded. 'I stand corrected. Maybe you should have been an investigative journalist after all.'

Colin picked up his phone. 'Well, if you're going to be insulting...'

Spike snorted a laugh. 'Sure.' He turned to go, and then remembered why he had approached Colin in the first place. 'Oh, yeah. Why are you Subletting your house?'

Colin paused, his fingers hovering over the keypad. 'I'm not.'

He unrolled the paper in his hand and showed Colin the page he'd been reading.

'That is your house, isn't it?'

Colin squinted at the small picture, then shook his head. 'Nah. I think it's number 16 that's up to let – I'm at 43. That's Beckett Road for you, though; they're all built the same. Hard to tell the difference.'

Spike picked up the paper himself and looked at the small photo. 'No kidding. Hey, the rent's pretty good.'

'Why do you think I'm living there? It's just a bit of unfashionable end of town, that's all. Not much noise or crime or anything.'

'Uh-huh…' a crazy idea had planted itself deep inside Spike's gut and was spreading its roots at an alarming rate. 'Nice size too, your place, isn't it…? I mean, it'd be suitable for you and Liz to live in together if… _when_… you do get hitched.'

Colin shrugged. 'It's just your basic two up, two down, but yeah, it's perfect for a couple…' Colin drifted off into a dreamy fantasy world for a moment. '…and maybe a little baby in the back room…'

'Central heating?' Spike added, 'plenty of hot water?'

'…maybe even twins, it could fit twins,' continued Colin to himself, 'they do run in her family. Yeah. Two little girls. We can give them cute little matching names, like… like Molly and Polly.' He glanced at Spike's bemused expression. 'Millie and Lily? Emma and Gemma. Vicky and Ni…'

'Hadn't you better call her Dad before you start naming your hypothetical family?' Spike interrupted.

'Oh. Yeah. Right.' Colin started dialling the number in the directory.

Spike was hit by another thought. 'What's the parking like? Only…'

'Hello!' Enthused Colin over the phone, completely ignoring the American. 'Is that Bill? Lizzie's Dad?'

Guessing that the conversation was over, Spike wandered out of Colin's office as the Financial Director took a suddenly defensive tone.

'What do you mean, "what has she done this time"? I'm only calling you because I'd very much like to ask you for young Elizabeth's hand in marriage…'

Spike shut the office door, although Colin's side of the conversation was still audible through the thin plasterboard walls.

'…it's her Boyfriend!' Colin exclaimed. 'Well, I assure you she _has_ got one, because I'm it!'

Shaking his head, Spike sauntered happily over to Lynda's desk.

Lynda barely glanced up from her computer monitor, and certainly didn't smile. 'What are you smirking for?'

'What if it isn't you and me living together that doesn't work?' Spike asked her. 'What if it's simply that… that the place just ain't big enough for the two of us.'

'Spike,' Lynda gazed up at him, toying with a Biro in an aggressive manner, 'it's a perfectly nice one bedroom flat. It is not a Wild West Mining Town.'

'It's a one-person apartment, Lynda! It was fine when I was staying there every couple of nights, but full time, and with all my things… you said yourself, it's too small. It's like the walls are closing in on us both there.' He slapped the newspaper down in front of her. 'Look at this. It's twice the size of your place and only 50 bucks a month more rent. We can afford that!'

Lynda squinted at the photo. 'This is Colin's house. Are you suggesting we live with Colin?'

'Of course not!' Spike winced. 'Just down the road from him.'

'Oh yes, because that's so much better.'

As if to back up Lynda's argument, it was at that moment that Colin slammed open his office door and called across the newsroom to his girlfriend.

'Elizabeth?'

Liz looked up from her work, blinking slightly at the uncommon use of The Full Name.

'Care to explain why your Dad didn't have the faintest clue who I was?' Colin continued in a loud voice.

Liz frowned. 'You've been talking to my Dad? Without telling me?' She got to her feet. 'After you specifically warned me off talking to any member of _your_ family?'

'See,' Lynda told Spike, 'I'll be damned if I'm living next door to _that_.'

'At least my family know I've so much as got a girlfriend!'

'Yeah, but I'm banned from speaking to them…'

'Hey,' called Spike, 'you two know the drill. Take it outside. Don't make us put The List up again.'

'Leave them be,' Lynda told him, leaning back in the chair. 'I've had a rotten weekend. The least I can do to cheer myself up is watch other people have a miserable time.'

Colin sighed. 'D'you want to step into my office to discuss this, Liz?'

'Do I have a choice?' Lizzie replied rhetorically, as she stomped over to his office door.

Lynda went back to torturing the Biro. 'Spoilsports,' she muttered.

'Lynda!' Spike shook the paper at her again. 'Whaddaya say?'

Lynda huffed. 'I like my flat.'

'You didn't seem to like it too much when you were kicking the walls last night.' Spike curled his lip fondly at her. 'C'mon. I know that face. That's your "Spike's right but I'll be darned if I admit it" face, isn't it?'

'How would you know? When would I ever have had opportunity to use it before?' Lynda took the paper off him. 'I don't want to be neighbours with Colin Mathews,' she complained. 'I don't want him coming round every other evening, borrowing sugar and stealing the silverware.'

'I don't think our £5 Woolworth's cutlery is exactly worth stealing,' Spike assured her, 'and you were clever enough to break the sugar bowl yesterday, so that puts a stop to that. C'mon, he can't exactly pester us any more than he does already.'

Lynda looked up at Spike, sadly. 'What if it isn't that my flat's too small, Spike? What if we get this place and it's still the same?'

'Well…' Spike paused for a long time before answering. 'I guess we won't know whether that's a problem 'til we try.'

'That doesn't really set my mind at rest, you know.'

'I know.'

-x-

Liz settled herself, cross-legged in one of the chairs in Colin's office.

'Can't believe you phoned my parents,' she said, sullenly.

'I wanted to ask your Dad permission to marry you,' Colin told her.

Liz burst out in peals of loud, mocking laughter. Catching Colin's hurt look, she tried to control her giggles.

'Sorry… sorry Sir. I wasn't laughing at you, I was just laughing at…' she wiped a tear away from her eye. 'It's just funny, that's all.'

'I gathered that,' replied Colin, without a smile. 'Your Dad reacted in exactly the same way.'

'Well, of course he did! Some mad Sassenach calls him from the blue and asks for _his_ permission to marry _me_, of all people!' Liz shook her head. 'Sir, as much as I love my Dad, I don't think I've made a single decision in my life that he's approved of, let alone asked his permission first.'

'Why haven't you told them about me, though? He didn't even know you had a boyfriend!'

'Because the last one went tits up, Colin, that's why.' Liz scratched at her fringe. 'I didn't want to put too much pressure on us, I didn't want to Jinx it.'

Colin looked away from her, as though suddenly fascinated by a bit of fluff stuck to a paperclip on his desk. 'You're embarrassed of me, aren't you?'

'No! God, no.' She scooched her chair over to Colin. 'I'm really proud of you.'

'You're just saying that.'

'Am not.' Liz dug in her pocket and pulled out a small, white object to show him. 'Look!'

Colin picked the Ping out of her hand and examined it. Painstakingly punched into it, hole by hole, with what looked like a compass needle were the words 'Colin Mathews loves me!' – or a very close approximation, at least. Colin tried his best to hide a smile as he gave it back to her and cleared his throat in a businesslike manner.

'There's only one "t" in "Mathews", Fish.'

'Easy mistake to make, Sir.'

'And only one "l" in "Colin." Oh, and there's an "e" in "loves". And no "a" in "me".'

Liz nodded. 'I see.' She kicked him gently on the shin. 'Am I forgiven?'

'Am I?'

'Fraid not, Sir.' Liz cocked her head back at him. 'See, now that my folks know I'm Stepping Out With A Young Man again they're going to bloody well want to meet you, so now I have to take you all the way up to Scotland to be inspected by the Clan.'

'Sorry.'

Liz shrugged. 'Believe me, the trip'll be punishment for you. Think the Mathews Tribe's a nightmare? Well, a room full of Fish is going to make them look like the bloody Waltons.'

Colin folded his arms with an air of victory. 'You're taking me to meet your parents. That's pretty serious, Fishcakes.'

'Don't you "serious" me. _You're_ the one who keeps proposing.' Liz nudged him with her foot again, and sniffed. 'Fancy a sly one, while everyone thinks we're still arguing?'

'Yeah, why not?' Colin started undoing his tie. 'By the way, will you marry me?'

'No!'

-x-

'Right. Right.' Lynda quickly proofread her letter before signing it, cautiously. 'Right.'

Julie glanced across at her, shoving her pen behind her ear. 'What are you doing?'

Lynda continued to look down at the letter with a worried expression. 'Serving my notice to my Landlady.'

'I thought you and Spike had only just moved in together,' replied the Assistant Editor. She glanced down at her empty hands. 'Have you seen my pen?'

'My contract expires in a couple of months, so we're going to find a bigger place,' Lynda told her, vaguely. 'Between your ears.'

'What?'

'Your pen.'

'Oh.'

Lynda watched Julie grope to pull the pen out from her tangle of Blonde curls momentarily, but her attention was caught by an unfamiliar sight at the Holiday Rota Board.

'What are you doing?' She called, stuffing the letter into an envelope.

At the Rota Board, Colin looked across at her, brightly. 'Just booking some holiday.'

Lynda took a second to let the concept sink in. '_You're_ actually _booking_ time off?'

'I do take holidays every now and again, Lynda.'

'Yes, but you've never given us prior warning of it before. You usually just wander off for a couple of weeks. We know you've been abroad when you come back with a suntan and food poisoning.' She nodded at a guiltily dishevelled Liz. 'I take it you're responsible for this sudden discovery of foresight, Lizzie.'

'We're going to meet Lizzie's parents,' Colin announced. 'Last week of June.'

'Technically,' added Liz, 'I have actually already met them…'

'You can't go,' interrupted Lynda. 'Not then, anyway.'

Liz frowned. 'Why not? Nobody else's got time off booked then.'

'But that's when Kenny's up!' Lynda protested. 'I wanted us to do fun things while Kenny's here. You got the memo!'

'This Kenny bloke's going to be here all Summer,' Liz replied, 'you can't just monopolise the whole of it, Lynda.'

'It's my bloody paper, I'll do what I like!'

Liz took Colin's shoulder and ushered him away. 'We're taking the holiday,' she told Lynda. 'You'll just have to have all the fun and games without Colin for a week.'

Lynda got up from her chair with a tut and walked over to the Holiday Board, scowling at the line of dots Colin had made over his week off. As she had done since Kenny had confirmed when his flight to Britain would be, she silently counted the weeks until his arrival. She blinked. She re-counted. With a sudden panic, she scuttled back to her desk and pulled her letter out of its envelope, staring at it.

'No,' she whispered. 'No!'

'What now?' Julie muttered.

'I can't do it. I'm just going to have to re-sign for another year.'

'Mmm?'

'The contract's up on the fifth of July. I'd be doing the move slap bang in the middle of Kenny's visit.'

'So?'

'I've got stuff Planned, Julie! You can't just cancel Plans!'

Julie shrugged. 'Fair enough. I mean, Spike's Spike, he's easy enough to get along with. How hard could living in your flat with him for another year possibly be?'

Lynda opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, uncharacteristically struck for words. She looked at the letter again, then the Holiday Board, then Spike's desk.

'Oh for the love of…' She pushed the letter back into the envelope and sulked over to the Board to mark herself off for the first few days of July.

'While you're doing Holidays,' piped Sarah from her corner, 'I'm going to need the second week of July off…'

'Oh for God's sake, Sarah!' Lynda cried. 'What the Hell are _you_ doing here?'

'It's the Easter holidays,' explained Sarah.

'Well,' snapped Lynda, 'you're not having them _and_ July. One or the other. You're barely here these days as it is…'

'No,' attempted Sarah, 'What I meant, was…'

But Lynda wasn't listening.

'Sometimes I wonder if I'm just talking to myself,' Sarah added.

Nobody replied.


	27. Fleeting

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Fleeting

-x-

There's this one photo on my desk at work. Everyone always asks me who it's of. Most of the time they recognise the younger me standing in the corner there – I haven't changed that much since I was 17. So everybody assumes that the other four are my old school friends, which is sort-of right, and sort-of not right. The girl in the middle… now she _is_ an old friend. The oldest friend I have… well – not that she's an old woman… you get the gist. We've been best friends all our lives. No Funny Business or anything – she's more like the psychotic evil twin sister I never had. Love her to bits, though, for my sins. You can laugh, but at the time that picture was taken, she was technically my Boss. The bloke next to her, the one with the jeans and the sunglasses, that's her boyfriend. Really nice guy, head screwed on pretty well in spite of his taste in women. They're a bit of a nightmare, that pair, but they're good for each other really. They're actually doing really well together at the moment, it seems. The blonde girl on the other side of him is the Boss' other best friend. She's a bit quiet sometimes, not very assertive, but she's a very sweet girl, very creative. The guy between the Boss and me… he's a legend. Mad as a bag of snakes. Him and the Boss always had this weird symbiotic thing going on that I never really understood. Some people resented that she kept him close, but I always thought the lunacy was fun. Besides, he's nice enough, deep down… very deep down.

But, you see what I mean? They're not _my_ friends, exactly. They're _her_ friends. She chose them. She kept them. But still, they became the best friends I had at that time in my life. The way I see it, I can get on with pretty much anyone, but she really can't. So if she finds three other people she can get along with, I'll get along with them, too.

Oh, yes. And that's me, at the end. My name's Kenny Phillips, not that that matters. In a way, this story isn't about me at all. Bleeding typical, isn't it? The story of one of the most important things to happen in my life, and it isn't really about me. Story of my life, eh?

Story of my life.

-x-

That day, I woke up with jetlag and a terrible headache. Typical, again, because I just knew that Lynda (that's the name of the girl in the middle, by the way) would somehow see it as my fault that I chose to feel ill on the day she had arranged for us to go out and have fun.

I wasn't wrong. I remember her barging through into Granddad's living room, that old look of thunder on her face.

'What do you mean, you've got a headache?'

'Nice to see you too, Lynda.'

Despite the bad head, I stood up and she hugged me, stiffly, awkwardly – the same way that we had always hugged.

'You can't have a headache today,' she muttered into my shoulder, 'I've got it all planned out.'

'Another of Lynda Day's intricately scheduled Fun Days Out, eh?'

She frowned up at me. 'If I don't plan it properly we won't have time to do everything. Besides,' she added, 'we've got you for the whole weekend before you have to go off and see your Auntie. I've put a lot of work into it, Kenny, you're not going to ruin it.'

The headache really was bad. I pulled out of the hug to take another sip of water.

'I'll be back next week,' I told her.

'That's no good,' she replied, 'Colin will be in Scotland with Liz by then. And when they come back, we've got our big move, and the week after that is when Sarah's going to visit her University friend in Spain.'

'So?'

'So this is the only weekend that it'll be the five of us.'

I tried pressing the cold glass of water against my forehead. It didn't help. 'Why's it got to be the five of us?'

'The five of us, Kenny!' Lynda looked at me as if I'd just sprouted day-glo antlers. 'The old gang, together again for the first time since you buggered off to the other side of the world! Don't you want to see them again?'

'Of course I do, Lynda. I want to see all of the old gang again. Frazz, Tiddler, Billy, Julie…'

Lynda waved her hand, dismissively. 'They wouldn't all fit in the car. They'll all be at dinner tonight. And tomorrow it'll just be you and me, we can do something quiet - go to the cinema or something. But I thought we could go to the seaside today, and I planned it really well…'

There was a strange look in her eyes. She looked a little sad. Wistful, almost. The penny dropped. Today wasn't really going to be about me. It wasn't _my_ 'old gang' that she wanted to cram into a car and drive to the edge of the country. It was the people that surrounded her in that old photograph. It was her old gang, together for one more time. And, what with emigration and university and Scottish girlfriends, who could say when all of those people would be together around her again. I softened to her, as always.

'Lynda Day,' I told her, 'you'll be the death of me.'

She smiled brightly as I caved. 'Great! Get your jacket, then.' She paused, an afterthought hitting her as I winced at the pain in my head. 'And take something for that headache.'

'Oh, of course,' I added, 'because I hadn't thought of that.'

'Kenny.' She took my hand gently, aping serious concern. 'What have I told you about attempting sarcasm?'

-x-

Spike and Colin were already waiting in the large, elderly car outside the house – at least, it _looked_ like Spike and Colin. I did wonder, when we got in - me in the back seat, her in the front - at how much closer Spike and Lynda had become. They shared a kiss as she buckled in, and she wiped her lipstick from his mouth, playfully. He grinned back at me from the driver's seat.

'Hey, Kenny. Whaddaya think of Bertha?'

'Bertha?'

'Yeah.' Spike waved a hand around the inside of the car. 'Bertha. The big old ugly Car That Could.'

'She's a beaut, Spike.' I closed my eyes against the painful sunlight as Spike started up the car and pulled away. 'I'm surprised you could afford a top of the range model like this on a Journalist's salary.'

'I can't,' continued the American's voice in the flashing redness behind my eyelids. 'You, my friend, are currently seated on The Boss and I's first ever joint financial commitment.'

'You bought it together? That's sweet.'

'Hey, we're shacked up together too!'

'I heard,' I continued, my eyes still shut tight. 'And you two haven't killed each other yet – I'm impressed.'

'We came close a couple of times,' added Lynda. 'I think we're over the worst of it now. We don't aim for the major organs when we stab one another any more.'

'It'll be babies before you know it,' I grinned, picturing Lynda's expression.

It was then, as I was contemplating the improbable, that the impossible happened.

'Are you all right, Kenny?'

Colin's voice had actually sounded genuinely concerned. That was something worth opening an eye for. Somebody who looked and sounded almost exactly like Colin Mathews was sitting quietly on the other side of the back seat, watching me with a calm expression. There was something wrong about him… that is to say there was something _right_ about him. Something that I couldn't put my finger on. He seemed… Healthy.

'What?' was all that I managed.

'You don't look well,' added the imposter.

'Who are you?' I asked, 'and what have you done with Colin?'

'He's a changed man now, Kenny,' interjected Spike from the driver's seat, 'He's almost bearable. And all it took was a woman's touch.'

I closed my eyes again. 'Oh yes. I heard you've got a Bird.'

'I've got a Fish!' His statement sounded so very proud that I had to open one eye again. He was beaming.

The car pulled up outside the Jackson's house, and Spike tooted for Sarah.

'Well. I can't wait to meet the extraordinary woman who put my old mate Colin off the Hustle.'

Lynda snorted a mocking laugh. 'She's not a miracle worker, Kenny. He's just shifted his energies to a different kind of Hustle.' She shot Colin a Look. 'Haven't you?'

Colin leaned back in the seat. 'She can't say "No" forever.'

I opened my eyes fully. Bloody Hell, did the daylight ever sting. 'Colin, you've been going out with this girl for, what, six months? And she still doesn't want to… are you sure that's healthy, relationship wise…?'

Sarah opened the car door and piled into my side of the back seat, pushing me into the middle. 'Oh God, Colin hasn't proposed to Liz again, has he?'

I stared at Colin. 'You _proposed_ to her?'

'At least a hundred times,' Sarah replied on his behalf. 'He started back in April, and he hasn't given up since.'

Colin shrugged, calmly. 'I'm going to marry her,' he said, simply.

Sarah leaned over me to the driver's seat. 'Giving you any ideas, Spike?'

'I keep telling ya, Sarah,' replied Spike, 'The lady said "No".'

'You never asked!' cried Lynda.

The world was starting to spin. Too much noise, too much light. The ache had taken over the whole of my head, and was creeping down the back of my neck. I felt sick. I wanted to stop. I wanted to go back, and go to bed, but this was Lynda's big day out. Nothing they were saying was making sense. Had I been out of the loop for so long? Everything was so different. It was all such a sudden jolt.

'OK, guys.' I had to raise my voice above theirs, and it hurt my brain. 'What did I miss?'

-x-

We drove, and I listened, eyes closed, to their noises. Their chattering, their joking, their squabbling. It's not that I hadn't missed it. It's not that I didn't find it strangely comforting. It's just that I felt so ill. I wanted dark, and still, and silence, and I wasn't going to get any. We pulled up at last, on a neon beachfront promenade, all flashing lights and loud arcades. I couldn't even open my eyes to it.

'Come on,' I heard Lynda order, 'everybody out.'

'Lynda… I really don't feel well at all.' I still couldn't bear to open my eyes. 'Maybe if I have a rest in the car while you have lunch…'

'Aren't you hungry?' – That was Colin's voice.

I tried to shake my head, but my neck had seized up. 'Feel sick.'

'What's up with you, Kenny?' asked Spike. 'This is more than just a headache, isn't it? Think it's a migraine?'

'I never get migraines. I've never felt so bad before.'

'It's just a headache,' snapped Lynda.

'It's all over.' I tried not to whine. 'In my eyes, down my neck…'

'Down your neck?' repeated Sarah. 'Is your neck stiff, Kenny?'

'Yes.'

'And does the light feel too bright?'

'Everything's too strong. Too noisy, too hot, my shirt's too scratchy…'

'Kenny.' I could feel Sarah move in to me, and hear the worry in her voice. 'Can you touch your chest with your chin?'

I tried, but my head could barely move. 'No. Frozen up.'

'Lynda,' muttered Sarah, 'I think we need to take Kenny to a hospital.'

'What?' Lynda was incensed. 'Why?'

'They drum it in to us at Uni, Lynda. The signs to look out for… Meningitis.'

The car went silent for a moment. Nobody else was filling it, so I did.

'Don't be soft, Sarah. I haven't got Meningitis.'

'You're 21, Kenny,' replied Sarah, 'you're High Risk. And you've got all the signs. Maybe I'm wrong. I just want to be sure.'

'I thought Meningitis was that rash you roll a glass over,' said Lynda, quietly.

'That means Septicaemia's set in,' said Sarah, 'that can mean amputations, or brain damage, or worse…'

The car started up again. 'That's it,' said Spike, 'I'm finding a hospital.'

'No…' I attempted.

'Hey,' added the American, as cheerfully as he could, 'you like your brain and body parts just the way they are, don't you?'

'More or less.'

I felt the car pull away, fast, as Spike continued to talk. 'Then let's keep 'em that way, huh?'

-x-

The journey to the hospital was confused. I never opened my eyes. There was a lot of stopping, and asking people for directions, and turning around. At one point somebody asked if I was too hot, and helped to unbutton my shirt. Then a girl gave a shocked little scream, and a glass bottle that felt freezing cold was pushed onto my chest, and there was more commotion, and after that we seemed to drive an awful lot faster.

I threw up when the car parked at the hospital. I think I managed to make it out of the car first. Then there were hands under my elbows. The guys had to practically carry me into the A&E waiting room, while the girls held open doors and carried bags. There was sitting and waiting, for what felt like days but what could have been as little as a few minutes. The others sat nervously, and occasionally harassed staff to have me seen to quicker. I remember Lynda - Lynda always sitting next to me, my hand in hers, ignoring everyone around her but me, trying to make me drink, although I knew full well I wouldn't even be able to keep water down. The pain was unbearable.

Then they called my name, and I stood up, and my brain exploded. The pain seemed to be stretching out of my body, creating tendrils of hot white agony that thrashed around me. And then it was all sucked in again, and I became heavy in the arms of whoever it was that was catching me, and the pain became numbness, and the white became black, and everything spiralled away from me.

-x-

Only it wasn't everything. Because, at some point, I became aware of their voices. Their voices, and their hands. Everything else was oblivion, but there they were. A man had my left hand in his, a woman my right. A third person was at my right leg, drawing a small figure of eight over and over again through the blankets on my shin with a finger. Somebody else was stroking my hair. I knew that was Lynda. She was speaking softly to me, close to my ear.

'Come on, Kenny.'

I couldn't answer. I wanted to tell her everything was going to be OK, but I couldn't. My mouth was frozen.

'You can get through this,' she demanded, 'I know you can. You're a Big, Strong Bloody Man. Come on.'

I wanted to tell her that I was doing the best I could.

'So we could have caught it faster,' muttered Lynda to me, 'we caught it, didn't we? You're in the best place, considering, aren't you? So how about cutting me a little slack?'

She fell silent for a moment before carrying on.

'You've ruined my day out, you know. I had it all planned out. We'll have to do it when you get better. Won't we, Kenny? Won't we?'

There was another pause.

'Kenny.' She was choking up a little. 'Kenny, don't go. You mustn't leave me again. I've only just got you back, Kenny. I need you to stay. Understand? Do you understand?'

I remember laughing inside at that. I remember thinking how much I was going to take the piss out of her for turning so soppy on me, just because I'd collapsed a little bit.

'Kenny. My Kenny.' A warm splash of water hit my cheek and trickled down to my ear, cooling as it went. 'Kenny, don't die.'

That surprised me. Who said anything about dying? I had had a headache, that was all. I was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine. I could hear something else, though, besides her voice. Something within myself. It felt like waves, breaking gently on a beach. It was as though it was a sound that had always been going on, in the background, and I had only become aware of it now... now that it was fading. The sound was definitely becoming fainter, the waves breaking slower and slower each time. It was a peaceful, relaxing sound. I wanted to go to it.

'Kenny.' I could feel her breath on my ear. Still, she sounded like she was half a world away. 'I do love you very much.'

I loved her too. I still do. I always will. I wanted to tell her that, at least.

But I didn't. I couldn't. I can't.

The tide stopped turning. The waves stopped their ebb and flow. They became a calm, still pool of water, and I was pulled up… up… up and away from myself.

Which brings me into the here and now.

-x-

I can see them, now, looking down on myself so strangely as I am. Lynda's still whispering in my ear, Sarah's watching her, my hand pressed between both of hers. That's Colin, still drawing figures of eight on my leg, his head bowed, in a world of his own. Spike's seen the monitor, he's seen the flat lines. He's crying, to himself, unable to speak. That's fair enough. It's not his job to break the news to them. The nurse takes Lynda's hand and guides her to the chair. Lynda asks, in her usual impertinent way, what's going on, and the nurse says those three little words. Those three tiny, enormous, monosyllabic, life altering words.

'He's gone, love.'

'**No!**'

Lynda's scream feels as though it has completely bypassed both brain and mouth, and has been ripped straight from her insides. She tries to stand, but the nurse and Spike hold her down. Still she screams, No, No, No, No, No, again and again and again, as if somehow that can undo what's happened. Sarah's whispering into my fingertips, Please, Please, Please, but the polite approach isn't going to work today either. I can't go back. Colin's still stuck in his loop. Maybe he realised I was dead the moment I died. Maybe he still doesn't know. It's hard to tell with him.

Lynda seems to have found some more words.

'He can't!' she cries, 'he can't go! How dare he!'

She tries to get up again, pulling at my blankets, but Spike bundles into her, sobbing, the weight of him keeping her on her seat.

'He's only just come back! I only just got him back! I love him, Spike! Why does everybody I love have to leave me, Spike? Why? Why, Spike? Tell me why…' The rest of her words are lost in Spike's shoulder.

Sarah tries to stand, but does so too quickly. She faints, and two more nurses run to her help. As though he were waiting for one of the others to cause a suitably large distraction, Colin suddenly pushes his chair away and, without looking back at my body once, leaves the Intensive Care Ward.

-x-

I float around them, around Lynda's angry railings, around Spike's attempts to be supportive in his own misery, out of the ward with the nurses carrying Sarah, down a corridor, through a fire escape to a tiny balcony where Colin's on his mobile.

'…but it turned out he had Meningitis and Septicaemia,' he tells the person on the other end of the phone, 'and by the time they saw to him, it was too late, and… and he died, Liz. He just… I just watched him…'

Colin trails off, gagging, and throws up, violently. By the time the convulsions have stopped, the tears have finally appeared.

'The nurses called his parents and his Granddad as soon as he collapsed,' he managed, 'they're all on their way, 'though his Mum and Dad will be a while yet, they've got to come from Australia… can you tell the others? At the office?' He pauses, shaking, then carries on in a tone of his voice that's completely alien to me. 'Will you come over? I need you to... I love you, too. I really… just come soon, OK, Fish?'

I leave him, and find Spike ushering Lynda through to a Quiet Room, where Sarah is already curled in the corner of a sofa, her head in her hands. Spike makes Lynda sit on the sofa, and then sits himself, wrapping himself around his girlfriend. He really is good for that girl. I hope he looks after her. Colin lets himself in soon after, perching himself on an arm rest, silently. Sarah wordlessly puts one arm around him and draws him close, taking Lynda's hand the other side of her.

Once upon a time, there were four people that Lynda Day chose to surround her. Today, she can only have three. The five of us in that old photo will never be together like that again. Poor Lynda. She's lost her Old Gang for good. I watch them now, although the tug drawing me away from here is getting stronger all the time. My friends - _her_ friends. They look very old, and very young, at the same time. Boys and girls, men and women. All the same people that I helped make a little schoolkids' newspaper with, and yet all so different now. One thing that strikes me as they all sit, hunched and sad together on that little settee – they all look horribly small.

The others are coming. I can see that. I can see it all. I can see how my death is going to change them further, change their lives forever. It's in their hearts already. See what I mean about today not really being about me? It's about them. It's about those four strange, familiar, tiny people, crushed together in sadness on a dingy hospital sofa. Colin Mathews. Sarah Jackson. Lynda Day. Spike Thompson. And me? Me, in the corner, unseen by everyone? My name is… _was_… Kenny Phillips. Not that matters, considering how in the end all that will be left of me will be the name 'Kenny Phillips' and two dates, far too close to one another. So today was one of the most important days of my life – the day it came to an end. So what? What can I take from that?

They will take something from today. I know that now, so I can let the undertow drag me away, far, far away from them until the sofa is a speck on a calm sea, and then there is nothing but still, cool water.


	28. What Remains

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

What Remains

-x-

'_You can't just sit here in the dark forever, you know.'_

'I'm game if you are.'

'_But you've got lots to do, Lynda. It's not like you to just sit around and mope…'_

'Office is shut. There's no paper to write. What am I supposed to do?'

'_There's got to be something you can do… Come on. Get up! Keep yourself busy. Get on with it!'_

Lynda didn't reply.

'_Are you listening to me, Lynda?'_

Lynda didn't budge. She just stayed seated on the side of her bed and allowed full, heavy tears to roll down her face and drip from her chin.

'Shut up, Kenny.'

-x-

Julie blew her nose delicately. She had promised herself that she wouldn't start crying again until this job was done, but… God… she'd never heard Frazz sound so devastated before. And Tiddler hadn't even been able to come to the phone, she'd had to give the entire message through the teenager's Mum. The closer to the late Kenny Phillips the staff she had to speak to were, the harder ringing around became. No wonder Lynda couldn't face it. Poor Lynda. Julie only had one call left to make, and she knew this one would be really tough. She held her breath as she dialled the number and exhaled in relief when a female voice answered.

'Hello Liz.'

'Hi Julie.' The Scot sounded terribly tired. 'How are you holding up?'

Julie tried to speak, but her words caught in the back of her throat and came out in an incoherent squeak.

'It's OK,' sighed Lizzie, 'you have a good cry now. It's OK.'

Ignoring Liz's advice, Julie forced the sob back inside, dabbing at her eyes. 'How's… how's he…?'

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. 'He's had better weekends,' conceded Liz, eventually. 'Needless to say, neither of us'll be in for a while.'

'No,' sighed Julie. 'We've, um… we've decided in his absence to close down for a week. So many of us at UpStart were close friends of Kenny's, it didn't feel right, and with our Editor, FD and two top journalists still in quarantine anyway… it just felt like the best thing to do. It'll cost us, but…'

'I'm sure he'll understand,' Liz soothed.

'Shall I let the Sales Team know?' volunteered Julie.

'You've done enough, Hen,' Liz replied. 'He's got their numbers, I'll ring around in a bit. You take a break.'

Julie nodded sadly at the phone receiver, but couldn't bring herself to put it down and face the silence of her flat. 'I…' she started. 'I don't want to…'

'Don't want to be alone?' interjected Lizzie. 'Join the club. We've got badges.' There was another pause. 'So this Kenny was quite a guy, eh? Must've been, to be missed so badly.'

Julie fought another short battle against a deluge of tears, and lost this time. 'He was… It's not fair… You fall out of touch with a friend and it doesn't hit you what a great guy he was until he's taken away from you…'

'You can come over if you like, you know,' Liz replied, 'he's not showing any signs of developing the Big M, it should be safe.'

'I don't think he'd be all that pleased to see me…'

'You used to be good mates with Colin, didn't you?'

Julie sniffed. 'That was a long time ago…'

'Like you said,' answered Liz, 'you fall out of touch with a friend, and so on and so forth. Come over. Just for a cuppa. Don't worry, he won't hit on you, if he knows what's good for him.'

Julie wiped her eyes and cracked a smile for the first time that day. 'You know what? I think I will.'

'See you in a bit, then.'

Lizzie gently put the phone back in its cradle and turned to the unwashed, unshaven, red eyed man lying on the sofa.

'Hear that, Sir?' Liz crouched down in front of her boyfriend. Colin didn't move a muscle – didn't even focus on her, but stayed staring dully out into the middle distance. 'We're going to be having company. Bit of tea and cake, how does that sound, eh?' She tried to take his hand, but his palm fell slack in hers. 'Think you can see yourself to getting up for that? Maybe clean yourself up a little bit? Will you eat? Have something to drink?' She sat back. 'Do you want your pills?'

Colin still didn't look at her, but shook his head, slightly.

'Colin, please. There's grief, and there's… Sickness. The pills are there for when you get like this.'

Colin opened his mouth and spoke, very slowly, very very quietly.

'One of my only friends died two days ago. How should I feel?'

Liz sighed, relieved at hearing his voice for the first time in nearly 24 hours. 'Well, OK. It's perfectly natural for you to feel like shit. But you shouldn't be making yourself ill like this.'

Colin didn't respond.

'Come on,' added Liz with a false cheer, 'I bet even Lynda hasn't let herself get this bad.'

-x-

'_Lynda?'_

'Lynda?'

'_Lynda.'_

'Lynda. Lynda?'

Lynda curled herself into a tight ball on the bed, freezing at Spike's touch.

'Go away,' she breathed.

'Lynda, please.'

She felt his hand move from her shoulder and run through her hair.

'Please. Let me in.'

Spike curled up next to her and tried to put an arm around her, but she moved away.

'_Oh, come on, Lynda. You know me and Spike were good mates too. Don't you think this has hit him hard as well? Why are you taking it out on him?'_

'I need some space,' she sighed.

She felt Spike roll over to the other side of the bed. 'OK. You know where I am if you wanna talk about it.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

Spike got up. 'I'd quite like to.'

'_Lynda Day! Do you want me to get angry again? Because I will get angry. Oh, I can get angry…'_

Lynda bit her lip. 'I killed him, Spike.'

'_What?'_

'What?' Spike sat down next to her again. 'No! How could you have possibly killed him?'

'He was sick, he needed help. And I tried to take him to the seaside! If I'd got him to the Hospital earlier…'

'There were five people in that car, Lynda.' Spike laid a hand gently on her turned shoulder. 'None of us worked out that Kenny's headache meant he was really sick 'til it was too late, including Kenny.'

'I should have known!' Lynda exclaimed. 'I'm supposed to be this big, clever news editor and I can't even work out that my best friend's dying in the back seat of my bloody car…'

'You've gotta stop blaming yourself for things you had no control over, Lynda.'

'_He's right, you know. This is David Jefford all over again.'_

Lynda sniffed. 'It _is_ Jefford all over again.'

'No, Lynda…'

'I didn't listen. He tried to tell me, but I didn't listen. I just wanted things my own way, and now a boy's dead. Again.'

Spike tried stroking her hair soothingly, but Lynda was already shaking with tears.

'It's all the same,' she announced, her voice quiet and tight, 'it's still the same as it always was. I can't change. I thought I could, but I can't, and it took Kenny away from me. Who's it going to take away from me next, Spike?'

'Listen to me. This wasn't your fault. Kenny didn't die as a punishment to you.'

'What am I going to do, Spike? What am I going to do? How can I change? I want to change!'

'Stop talking like this,' Spike told her. 'You don't need to change. You didn't kill Kenny. The world killed Kenny. It's the world that needs to change, if it's the sorta world that could take a perfectly sweet, healthy guy and let a nasty little disease collect in him like that and just wipe him out before anybody could…'

Lynda sighed, allowing Spike's words to wash over her. She knew he was in earnest, of course, but they felt hollow to her. It was her fault.

'_It wasn't. You just want it to be.'_

It took a moment for her to focus on Kenny, watching her from his corner by the wardrobe.

'_You want it to be your fault because you think it would be easier to change yourself than it would be to change the rest of the world.'_

Kenny pulled up a chair and sat down a few feet away from her, and for a heartbeat they were back in the old office, at their adjoining desks.

'_But does that sound like Lynda Day to you?'_ Kenny continued. _'Because the Lynda Day I know wouldn't just lie in bed and whimper about this. The Lynda Day I know wouldn't turn in on herself like this. The Lynda Day I know would face the world and scream and shout until she got her way.'_

'But I'm not going to get my way on this,' she told him in her head.

'_Of course you are!'_

'But you're dead.'

'_That's no excuse to become all defeatist.'_

'I can't bring you back, Kenny.'

'_I'm here, aren't I?'_

'No you're not. Not really. You're just a memory. It's not Kenny Phillips I'm talking to right now, it's myself.'

Kenny nodded, sagely. _'It's the first sign of madness, you know. The little blue pixie that lives in my pocket told me.'_

Lynda giggled.

'_Second sign is laughing at your own jokes.'_

Lynda smiled, fondly. 'I miss you.'

'_I know you do.'_

'What am I supposed to do, Kenny?'

There was a long silence. Lynda looked up at Spike. He'd stopped talking. He didn't seem to be waiting for a response from Lynda, which was a good thing, since she hadn't taken in a word he'd said. Instead, he was leaning against the wall, gazing sadly into space.

'_Change the world.'_

'What?'

'_Change the world. Save lives. Destroy the thing that killed me.'_

'You don't ask much, do you, Kenny Phillips?'

'_I think I'm still due a favour or two. Go on, change the world for me.'_

'Who do you think I am – Mother Theresa?'

'_No. Better than that. You're Lynda Day.'_

'Flattery will get you nowhere, Kenny, dead or not…'

'_You're still going to do it, though. Aren't you?'_

Lynda said nothing. Kenny beamed.

'_Well, this is something – _you_ taking orders from _me_! Listen, while the opportunity's there, I've got another favour to ask…'_

'Don't push your luck.'

'_It's just this.'_

Kenny leaned in to her.

'_Enjoy the people that you care about while you can. We're all of us mortal – what happened to me's proof enough of that. Never let yourself sit at another deathbed wishing you'd said the things that you were always too Lynda to say. And you know exactly where you can start.'_

Spike turned to her. 'What?'

She shook her head, suddenly aware that she'd been staring at him. 'You know when we first met?' she asked him. 'That thing you said about the dragon?'

'Sure.'

'I think I've found one. Want to help me slay it?'

Spike paused for a moment, allowing a faint smile to creep over his sombre features. 'It'd be my honour.'

'Good.' She got up off the bed. 'Are you hungry, Spike? I'm hungry.'

'I'm not surprised,' Spike told her, 'you've barely eaten in two days.'

'Make me some Reddy Brek,' Lynda ordered, 'I've got a phone call to make.'

Spike sprang to his feet. 'You want syrup or jam in that, Ma'am?'

'Syrup.' She tidied her hair away from her face, giving him a brief, sideways glance as she did. 'I do love you, you know,' she added.

Spike paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned his grin away from her.

'I know.'

-x-

Julie dashed to answer the phone before it rang off. 'Hello?'

'Julie?' demanded Lynda's voice on the other side of the line, 'what the Hell are you doing at his house?'

'Oh,' sighed Julie, 'sharing tea and sympathy… wondering whether you can administer Jamaica Ginger Cake intravenously.'

'Oh well,' Lynda replied, 'this'll save time, I suppose. Put him on, would you? And tell him I need to speak to you again after.'

'He's not exactly talking right now…' began Julie.

'Is he sick…?'

Julie cast a worried eye over the comatose form on the sofa. 'Yes and no. Not like Kenny was…'

'Well, put me on to the great wet blanket!'

Julie shrugged and took the phone receiver over to Colin. 'It's Lynda,' she told him, tucking the receiver between his ear and the sofa cushion. It heartened her to see a slight expression of annoyance cross his face.

'Colin?' Lynda barked down the phone. 'Are you there?' She paused. 'I can hear you breathing, you know. Are you listening? Right, first of all you'd better believe the next edition's going to be a Meningitis Special. You were thinking that too, right? Right. I'll get Sarah and Julie to co ordinate it. And, obviously, all of our profits next week will go to the National Meningitis Trust. The next thing I want you to do is…'

'What?' croaked Colin.

'I want this thing to go National, Colin,' Lynda continued. 'I want you to buy us a billboard in…'

'_All_ of our profits…?' echoed Colin.

'Yes, that's right. They fund research into treatment and vaccines.'

'What were you saying about billboards…?'

'Yes,' added Lynda, 'I want you to get us a billboard in every University town in the country.'

'We're going National?'

'The campaign! The campaign is going National!'

Colin sat up, slowly. 'We've got a campaign?'

'Meningitis killed my best friend,' Lynda explained. 'And that pissed me off. And when I get pissed off at something, it knows about it.'

'Oh.'

'All I want to do is wipe it off the face of the planet in all its many forms,' reasoned Lynda. 'Is that really too much for a girl to ask?'

'So…' Colin frowned, slowly catching up with his Editor. 'So the billboards won't be for UpStart. You want them to be about how to spot Meningitis early enough to treat, right?'

'Exactly.' Lynda paused. 'Eat some bloody Ginger Cake, would you? You must be driving poor Liz to distraction.'

Colin didn't reply. He picked a thin slice of cake off the plate next to him and munched on it slowly.

'We haven't got time to sit around and mope,' Lynda continued. 'The paper's re-opening in seven days and by then I want a complete strategy out of you.'

'This all sounds very expensive,' Colin muttered. 'I don't really think we're Charity sort of people…'

'This isn't rattling a tin outside Safeway's, Colin…'

'Good. Because I've been banned from doing that, you know.'

'…This is changing the world!' Lynda continued. 'I mean it.'

'Shouldn't we at least wait until the funeral's over?'

'No. We're doing it now.' Lynda paused. 'It's what he would have wanted.'

Colin nodded, reaching for a hot cup of tea that was suddenly by his side. 'I'll, um… I'll phone up the thingummybobs…'

'You do that.' Lynda paused again. 'Go on then, pass me over to Julie and hop to it.'

Dreamily, Colin passed the receiver back to Julie. The Blonde wandered away from him as she took the call. Liz perched on the armrest of the sofa, running her fingernails over his scalp.

'Feeling any better there, Sir?'

'Hmm.'

'What did Lynda have to say?'

'"Hop to it",' he murmured.

'Pardon?'

'Hop to…' Colin trailed off as a long sunk bubble of memory floated to the top of his brain and burst on its surface with a merry "plink". 'Oh _God!_'

Liz met his suddenly horrified gaze with concern. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

Colin rubbed his face in anguish. 'No, no, no…'

Kenny grinned at him from his spot by the window. _'I'm afraid so, me old mucker.'_

'Oh, please, no. You can't be serious.'

Kenny's smug smile didn't waver an iota. _'Sorry, Col. But death's a Bastard. And, sometimes, so am I.'_


	29. The Three Widows

The Three Widows

-x-

The barmaid of the Three Widows Inn watched with a vague curiosity as the funeral party filed in. It never failed to amaze her how people were still able to laugh and joke at times like these. The chatter of the mourners always seemed forced and tense, though, as though everybody was treading a fine line between laughing politely and bursting into floods of tears. She noticed that there were an awful lot of young people at the wake. It troubled her. She hated it when young people died. There was just something so… so _wrong_ about it – so unnatural. She pondered this as a handsome young man kissed a girl on the forehead and walked over to the bar.

'Uhh…' drawled the man in an American accent, 'Two red wines, one white, two ciders, one lager, one bitter with a straw, one G&T, three bourbons - two with soda, one on the rocks. Oh, and could you put a cocktail umbrella in one of the soda bourbons?'

The barmaid shook her head. 'Sorry. Don't have any.'

'Hmm.' The American nodded at a pile of glace cherries on the chopping board behind her. 'Could you put a cherry on a toothpick instead, then? That'll probably keep him happy enough.'

The barmaid nodded, and started pulling the pints. 'Getting the first round in, eh?' She chattered, conversationally. 'Talk about drawing the short straw.'

The American shrugged. 'There's worse places to be at a funeral than at the bar buying the first round… I reckon the guy in the incinerator's probably got it worse than me right now.'

The barmaid flushed. 'Sorry.'

'Ah, don't sweat it,' sighed the American. 'I'm just in a bit of a bad mood today. No idea why. The sun is out, the birds are singing, there's a beautiful aroma of cut grass, starch and burning human remains in the air…'

The barmaid had no idea how to respond to the man at the bar. She placed the pints in front of him with nothing but a slight furrow of the brow and turned to measure out the spirits.

The man sighed again, and softened his tone.

'So,' he added, 'you're kinda a long way from home, aren't you?'

She glanced over her shoulder at him, quizzically.

'Your accent,' clarified the American man. 'So, what brings you all the way over from the Emerald Isle to sunny Norbridge? The sparkling Nightlife? The Culture? The Architecture?'

She gave the man a small, sideways smile. 'Summer course at the Uni,' she replied. 'I get free board with my cousin if I do it here, so a couple of days bar work a week can all go to beer money.'

'Good girl,' beamed the man.

'Anyway,' added the barmaid, pouring out the wine, 'you can talk about being a long way over the water.'

The man shrugged, taking a sip of the iced whiskey. 'Don't let the accent fool ya, Doll. This is just as home as home can be for me now.' He paused. 'Wanna get yourself a drink while you're at it, uh…?'

'I'll have an orange juice, thanks,' replied the barmaid. 'And it's Kelly, by the way.' She held out her hand to shake.

The American accepted it, warmly. 'Spike.'

'So.' Kelly opened up a bottle of orange juice. 'Pardon me for prying, but I do really have to ask…'

'Shoot.'

Kelly nodded at one of the men at the table that Spike had taken the drinks orders from. 'Why is that fella wearing pink rabbit ears at a funeral?'

Spike grinned. 'Cause he didn't have the stones to wear the full outfit.'

'What?'

'Apparently, there was an agreement made with the deceased party a few years ago over copyright of certain recordings taken at a concert.' Spike smiled wistfully to himself. 'From what I could make of the paperwork, Party A was complaining that he felt he had the rights to several songs due to the fact that he had written and performed said songs, which Party B disputed since he had made the recordings at an event that he had overseen, and had, he claimed, contributed to the songs, insomuch that he had suggested Party A should "whack up the metronome" and "use more F Major". It seems that an agreement was made in Party B's favour in return for twenty pounds and several "sweeteners", including a clause in the contract that, should Party A meet his demise before Party B, Party B must attend the funeral of Party A dressed as a giant pink rabbit.' He shrugged, merrily. 'He tried to get out of it, but it's all down in black and white. In the end, the Committee decided that just the ears would be humiliation enough.'

'"The Committee"…? A group of you actually had a meeting about it?'

'Spike waved a hand in dismissal. 'Nothing that sinister. It was a general meeting. The rabbit costume was, like, eighth on agenda or somethin'. Or was it ninth? I'd have to go through the Minutes to be sure.'

Kelly started to ring up Spike's order. 'And you don't think that's a bit mean, at all?'

Spike shook his head with a giggle. 'It had to be done. Believe me, if anybody deserved to get the last laugh on Colin Mathews it was Kenny.'

'Kenny…' Kelly echoed, with a slight frown. 'That's…'

'That's the guy whose party this is. Kenny Phillips.' Spike took another sip of his bourbon. 'Talk about the good dyin' young.'

'Oh.' Kelly's hands faltered over the till. For some reason she couldn't fathom they had become weak and tremulous.

'You OK?'

'I…' Kelly rubbed her face. 'I'm not sure, I… the name rings a bell, that's all.'

Spike blinked. 'You knew Kenny?'

'I…' Kelly shrugged in confusion. 'I don't know. Isn't that stupid? I… can't put a face to the name at all…'

'Oh.' Spike already had his wallet out to pay, but after he'd pulled out a couple of notes he rifled through the back of it until he found a feathery, yellowed newspaper clipping and opened it out for her. 'Here. It's a few years old, but he's the guy on the far left. Know him?'

Kelly gently picked up the cutting, squinting at the picture. 'I don't think so. I don't know. It's… it's like Déjà vu or something…' She reached up to her face, and caught a tear that she hadn't even realised she'd shed. 'It's like I _should_ know him… Kenny… Kenny Phillips…' She blinked hard, and suddenly all the pieces fell together. 'Oh God!'

'Kelly?' called the Bar Manager from the other till, 'what's wrong?'

Spike gazed at Kelly. 'You did know him.'

Kelly nodded, sniffing. 'It's a really long story.'

'Hey.' Spike put a hand on her shoulder. 'You wanna sit with us for a while?'

Kelly looked over her shoulder at her Manager, who gave her a sympathetic nod of permission. Miserably, she removed her apron and carried her orange juice over to the table of mourners, seating herself between two equally unhappy looking young women. The brunette to her left gave her a brief, joyless smile.

'You another friend of Kenny's?'

'Yes,' sighed Kelly, 'and no. It's… it's a bit complicated.'

'Tell me about it,' empathised the Blonde at her right.

'He…' attempted Kelly. 'He made me feel good about myself. I barely knew him, really, but he was… special.'

'He was sweet,' the Brunette agreed, in a wistful tone. 'Clever, thoughtful…'

'Gorgeous,' added the Blonde.

Kelly nodded in agreement as Spike brought over the drinks for the other women.

'I'm Kelly, by the way,' she added.

'Jenny,' replied the Brunette.

The Blonde reached for her Gin and Tonic. 'Sam.'

Spike remained standing as he passed around the rest of the drinks.

'Anyway,' he announced, quietly. 'Here's to Kenny.'

'Kenny,' chorused the table, and, in unison, they drank.

-x-

'Lynda.'

Lynda looked up, her face set in the same tight expression it had been all day. In front of her was her mother, arm in arm with Mrs Phillips. Inwardly, she groaned.

'Typical,' she said inside her head, 'all I wanted was to get through today intact. These two are going to want to talk about Feelings and all that twaddle.'

'_Be nice to my Mum, you!'_ Kenny ordered. _'She's had a horrible couple of weeks.'_ He waved, unseen, at Lynda's mum. _'All right, Mrs Day?'_

'Do shut up,' she told Kenny, and focused on the two middle aged women with a polite smile.

'All right, love?' Mrs Day asked her daughter rhetorically before powering on. 'Liz here's got something to ask you.'

Lynda paled. It sounded important. She didn't want to be asked an important question by her dead best friend's grieving mother! 'It's not about Sarah's hat, is it?' she gabbled, 'I mean, I told that girl it was inappropriate the last funeral she wore it to…'

Liz Phillips, pale and wan, shook her head weakly. 'No, love,' she managed. 'I just… I just wanted to say…'

She broke off momentarily. Lynda's mum offered her a tissue, which she accepted gratefully.

'I appreciate what you're doing so much,' continued Mrs Phillips, 'really, really, I do… Kenny was such a good boy…' Her voice strained, and she took a few seconds to recover herself. 'So thoughtful,' she continued, 'always wanted to make a difference. This campaign you've started up… making a difference in his name… it's right. It's absolutely the right thing to do…'

'I thought it was what he'd have wanted,' breathed Lynda.

'And you're right!' Mrs Phillips exclaimed. 'I'd have never thought of something like that.' She smiled a little. 'You two were always so close. You… you knew aspects of my boy that I could never hope to… That's why… that's why… I've decided it would be best if…'

She stalled again. Lynda's mother squeezed Mrs Phillips' arm.

'Kenny's parents would like you to have the ashes,' she explained.

Lynda took a sharp intake of breath. 'What?' She shook her head, incredulously. 'I thought you were going to inter him in Australia.'

'No,' Mrs Phillips sighed, 'the idea of him in the hold for a 24 hour flight… and Australia wasn't his home, not really. It was here. He never made another friend like you Lynda. You were with him at… at the end, and… I just think it's Right.'

'But I don't know what to do with his ashes,' Lynda protested.

'You will, Love.' Mrs Phillips nodded. 'I believe that you'll know the place to lay him to rest, when you see it.'

'Um…' began Lynda, but her mother was already leading Mrs Phillips away.

'Oh for Christ's sake,' she moaned in her head, 'am I going to be stuck with you forever?'

Kenny just smiled and shrugged.

-x-

Tiddler was already in the Ladies', at the mirror, when Liz Fish walked in.

'All right, Tidge?'

'Stupid make up,' sniffed Tiddler, wiping around her eyes with a wet tissue. 'I look like a Panda.'

'Rookie mistake, kid.' Liz pulled a face at the first toilet cubicle and settled for the middle one. 'Always wear waterproof mascara to your funerals, your weddings and your sad movies. I think Julie's brought some if you want to borrow…'

'Nah.' Tiddler set about wiping off the rest of the runny make up. 'I'm pretty enough without it.'

'Speaking of pretty,' Liz continued from her cubicle, 'what's with the Sirens of Titan?'

'Eh?'

'Those three girls at our table,' clarified Liz, 'I've never seen them before.'

'Oh. The Brunette's Kenny's Ex Girlfriend. He helped to expose the shops that had been feeding her brother's glue habit, she ditched him by letter. Talk about gratitude.' Tiddler ran the cold tap to rinse her face. 'Although by the look on her face today you'd think it was him who dumped her.'

'We all do things we regret, I suppose,' Liz replied.

'Sam was head of Graphics after Julie,' Tiddler continued. 'Her and Kenny had this… this _thing_. I don't know… they were always flirting, you could tell they fancied each other like mad, but they didn't do anything about it. I tell you, what with those two dancing round each other _and_ Spike and Lynda, we were starting to think there was an epidemic of terminal dithering going around.' She paused, impishly. 'A bit like the relapse we had just before Christmas,' she added.

'Oi!' exclaimed Liz from the toilet.

Tiddler grinned to herself. 'Only, Spike and Lynda were finally talked into going out with each other, but Kenny and Sam… it never got going, I suppose. They just kept leaving it and leaving it, and then she went off to art school and she _still_ didn't have the nerve to ask him out, but I suppose she thought she would always know where to find him when she did.' She blotted her lips. 'Too late now. I don't know who that Irish girl is, but I heard her saying something stupid about being soul mates with Kenny, and always trusting fate to bring them together.'

Liz unlocked the cubicle door, and walked over to the sink. 'I don't think that's stupid. It's quite sweet.'

'Yeah,' replied Tiddler, 'but look where she is now.' The teenager turned to go. 'I wouldn't trust Fate with my love life, would you?'

Tiddler left, and Liz found herself alone, frowning at her reflection.

'No,' she sighed. 'I suppose not.'


	30. Acceptance 1

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Acceptance

-x-

One

-x-

'_Nice place.'_

'Yes. I thought so.'

'_Roomy.'_

'Mmm.'

Kenny poked at one of the big cardboard boxes already littering Lynda's new front room.

'_Haven't you got a lot of stuff? I never knew you had so much stuff!'_

'To be fair,' she replied in her head, 'a lot of it is Spike's.' She put down the box she'd been hefting. 'Incidentally, why are you still here?'

'_Well, that's nice, isn't it! I was only cremated yesterday!'_

'Don't remind me.'

Kenny frowned. _'Where am I, by the way? I hope you're taking good care of me.'_

Lynda shrugged. 'I think you're in the kitchen somewhere.'

'_Don't get uppity.'_

'I am not getting uppity!'

'_Yes you are. You're annoyed that you've been left to deal with the ashes.'_ Kenny paused. _'And you're annoyed that, being dead, I can't help with this move.'_

'I don't need your help,' she hissed out loud, without meaning to, 'I've got plenty of _other_ friends to lend me a hand.'

'Lynda,' called a desperate voice from the doorway, 'can you lend me a hand?'

Lynda groaned, and went out to the doorway. Colin looked up at her from beneath a sofa.

'We're having a slight issue vis-à-vis the spatial ratio aspect of this doorstep-to-lounge opportunity,' he told her.

'Your sofa's stuck,' explained Frazz from the other end.

'Try wiggling it,' suggested Sarah as she joined the bottleneck at the stuck doorway.

'We've tried wiggling it!' chorused the two sofa lifters.

'Can you hurry up?' Julie called, 'I need to put this duvet down as soon as possible.'

'Why?' Sarah asked, battling with a box full of books, 'it can't weigh much.'

'It doesn't,' replied Julie. 'It's just that it's hideous. Where's it from, Lynda – Laura Ashley?'

'No,' Lynda told her as she took some of the settee's load, 'BHS.'

She grinned at Julie's repulsed expression.

'Right,' she addressed the boys with the sofa, 'how are we doing this?'

'If you can get your hands under it,' Colin muttered. 'Careful, it's heavy.'

Lynda braced herself against its weight.

'Got it?' Colin asked.

'Yep.'

Colin let go. 'Great. Thanks, Love.' He turned, and wandered off towards the kitchen.

'Mathews!' Lynda tried to chase him, but was kept captive by the beached settee. 'Where do you think you're going?'

'I'm tired,' he called back, 'I need a break.'

'Colin!' She screamed. 'Don't leave me holding this bloody thing!'

'How do you think _I_ feel?' added Frazz, 'I've been carrying it all the way from the van…'

Spike appeared from behind Frazz, beaming with elation and twirling a large bundle of keys. 'I get to drive a van!' he enthused. 'I feel like my Grandad!'

'Yes Spike,' sighed Lynda, 'and, as I told you the last seven times, we're all very impressed. Finally, we have something to tell our many fat children about as we dandle them on our knees. However, unless you plan to do so from our living room and not from this doorway, it might be an idea for you to help me get this damn sofa dislodged.'

Spike furrowed his brow at the furniture and tested its weight. 'Have you tried wiggling it?' he asked.

'Yes!' cried Frazz with exasperation. 'How do you think it ended up stuck in the first place?'

Spike scratched his head. 'Tried taking the upholstery off?'

'The upholstery comes off…?'

'Yeah.' Spike winked at Lynda as they all set to stripping the lodged item. 'Not just a pretty face, huh?'

'Hiya, Neighbourinos.' A familiar, over-dyed head bobbed into view from beyond the bottleneck at the door. 'Stuck settee, eh? Tried wiggling it?'

'Late, Fish,' Lynda chided, 'yet again. You were due at the old flat an hour ago.'

Liz shrugged, without apology. 'Sir here? I need a word.'

'Inside,' Lynda replied.

'Cheers, Hen.' Liz dropped to her hands and knees, and crawled under the sofa in the doorway, using Lynda's legs to pull herself up.

'Oh,' called Lynda before the Scot could dart into the house beyond, 'could you just take this for a quick second? Itchy nose.'

'Sure.' Liz took hold of the sofa end as Lynda scratched her nose. 'Better?'

Lynda smiled brightly. 'Yes, thanks.' And with that she turned towards the kitchen.

'Hey! Come back!'

Lynda smiled a little to herself as she closed the door against Liz's cries, but set her face back to a disapproving glare as soon as she saw Colin counting out mugs.

'Kettle's on,' he told her, absently. 'Did I hear the Fish just now?'

'She finally deemed to show her face,' Lynda replied. 'She looks worn out. What were you doing to her last night? Actually, don't answer that. The concept of you getting your grotty little way mere hours after a close friend's funeral really is too much for me to cope with… speaking of which…' she gestured towards a 10cm cubed wooden box on the work surface. 'I see you found Kenny.'

Colin blinked, and stared at the box. 'That's… oh.' He shot Lynda a look of apoplexy. 'Oh good God…'

He opened the wooden box and carefully tipped into it a tablespoon worth of ash from one of Lynda's mugs.

'What's he doing in the kitchen, Lynda? I thought he was Lapsang Souchon!'

From beside Colin, Kenny started giggling.

'I don't know what you're laughing about,' she told him in her head, 'you were just nearly mixed with boiling water and dunked with a Hob Nob! Call that a dignified resting place? Cause I don't.'

'_You might have at least labelled me or something…'_

'How am I supposed to do that? A Post-It Note saying "Kenny's Ashes: Do Not Drink"?'

'If you don't label him, you'll lose him,' Colin was muttering, scribbling on the back of a business card. He pulled a small roll of Scotch Tape out of his pocket and bit off an inch of it.

'You carry Sellotape in your pocket?'

'Always.' Colin stuck the card to the box. 'There.'

Lynda looked at the card. KENNY'S ASHES, it read. DO NOT DRINK!

'You filed Kenny,' she sighed.

'It's what he would have wanted,' Colin replied, clicking the end of his pen. He paused for a moment as the kettle boiled. 'Lynda, I think we need to talk.'

'What?' Lynda furrowed her brow at the expression on Colin's face – it was one of quiet worry, laced with overtones of guilt – one which would have been unimaginable to her five years ago and, while not unheard of now, was still rare enough to give her cause for concern. 'Don't tell me,' she continued, 'we're running out of money for the campaign already.'

Colin shook his head. 'Actually, it looks like we might have stumbled on a goldmine there. The billboards are generating loads of interest, they're pretty much paying for themselves. Ethical Advertising – Marketing with a Message – very In, it turns out.'

'So what's the problem?' Lynda cocked her head. 'Whenever somebody says "we need to talk" using that tone it means there's a problem.'

'It's not _necessarily_ a problem…' attempted Colin.

'Colin, by the sound of you anyone would think you were dumping me,' snapped Lynda.

'No, Lynda,' Colin clarified, unnecessarily. 'We're not dating.'

'I am aware of that.'

'Oh. Yes. Right.' Colin chewed his lip. 'Sorry, I think I might be getting a bit flustered.'

'About _what_?'

Colin met eyes with her, seriously. 'About you and me.'

Lynda felt a horrible heavy feeling in her stomach. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'This is the worst timing imaginable, I know,' Colin told her, apologetically, 'what with… with everything and all. But last night, you see… last night I had a…'

'Is that kettle on, then?' Called Julie as she breezed into the kitchen, 'I'm parched, all that lifting.'

Colin blinked out of Serious Mode straight into a big, stupid Colin Grin just in time to greet Spike and Liz as they joined the others in the kitchen.

'Finally get that settee sorted, then?'

'Yeah,' huffed Spike. 'Thanks for your help, Guys.'

'Don't mention it,' replied Lynda. She shot a quick glance over at Colin, but his body language screamed that whatever he had to talk to Lynda about, he wasn't going to do it in front of anybody else.

Liz made a bee-line for her boyfriend and put an arm lightly around him.

'You look knackered,' Colin noted. 'You feeling all right?'

'Didn't sleep great last night,' Liz shrugged wearily. 'Were were you? I needed to speak with you.'

Colin shook his head dismissively. 'Work stuff. Still, I'm here now. What was on your mind, Fishcakes?'

'Um.' Lizzie looked down at the floor. 'It's not really Somebody Else's Kitchen material.'

'Oh?' Colin smiled hopefully. He caught her expression and his face fell. 'Oh.'

'Mind if I steal one of your Removal Men, Lynda?' Liz asked sheepishly. 'We, er…' she winced. 'We need to talk.'

Lynda nodded her permission, and Liz led Colin outside by the arm. Lynda shared an ominous glance with Spike as the water bubbled noisily in the kettle.

'I'll make the tea then, shall I?' grumbled Sarah, pushing towards the kettle. She stopped and sniffed. 'Can anybody else smell Lapsang Souchon?'

-x-

They walked the two hundred yards down the street to Colin's house, paused at the door, then wordlessly kept on walking.

It wasn't until they'd turned the corner onto the next street that Colin broke the silence.

'Are we splitting up?'

'No.' Liz shook her head, frowning. 'I don't think so, anyway.'

'Good,' sighed Colin. 'What's all this about, then?'

Liz pushed her hands into her pockets. 'Why haven't you proposed to me since Kenny died?'

Colin blinked. 'Well, I've been a bit busy, love.'

'Oh.'

'Besides,' Colin continued, 'isn't all much of a muchness, since you'd say No anyway?'

Lizzie stared at him, aghast. 'You haven't given up, have you?'

'No chance,' Colin replied, 'I thought of a good one this morning, actually, but it'll take a bit of organising…'

'So nothing's changed?'

'Oh, everything's changed, Fish. My friend's just dropped dead, the paper's flying out of my fingers, the bottom's fallen out of my world… but I still love you. That's never going to change.'

'You know what?' Liz replied, 'I believe you. So what if you've never been in love before – you're in love now, right?'

'Right,' Colin told her. 'I suppose you recognise being in love from last time…'

'No.' Liz looked up at Colin. 'It was never like this with those boys. Maybe I've never been in love before either… not really.'

Colin frowned at her. 'Where's all this coming from?'

'Yesterday,' Liz replied. 'Walking arm in arm with a man wearing pink rabbit ears to a funeral and not caring what an arse you looked… not just not caring. I _did_ care. I was _proud_ of you. Proud to be your girl. Made me think.' Liz stalled. 'Actually, it's been making me think for a while. Ever since you called me with that terrible, terrible news. It could have been you dying in that hospital bed, Sir. Or me. Or the car could have crashed on the way to the seaside, or my train to meet you could have derailed…'

'This isn't a very cheery conversation, is it?'

'I'm not feeling very cheery,' Liz sighed. 'In fact, I'm feeling deadly serious. Those girls at our table at the pub… they'd had the chance to be happy with your friend, only they'd either turned it away or let it slide. And then the chance was gone. The regret in their eyes… I spent last night awake thinking how easily it could have been your funeral instead of Kenny's. And then it would have been me sitting there, wondering why I never took that leap of faith, hating myself for leaving it too late.'

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but Liz kept on talking over him.

'I mean, why am I doing this? I love to seize the day, I pride myself in it. It's not like me to dither. Is it because I got stung with Andy? Pretty hypocritical considering the hissy fit I threw over Judy Wellman. Maybe it's because it looks like a crap idea on paper, but that's a rubbish reason not to go for something that, in my heart of hearts, I do actually really want. And maybe it won't work out after all, even though maybe what I'm really afraid of is what of it _does_ work, and I find myself with a mortgage, a toddler and a Delia Smith recipe book before I'm 30, but even that doesn't frighten me anywhere near as much as looking back some day and wondering why I never took that chance…'

'Lizzie.' Colin stopped, and took her hands. 'I have absolutely no idea what it is you're talking about. I was with you up to the train derailing…'

Liz smiled, faintly. 'I'm saying that every day is precious. I'm saying that I've found myself taking it as read that every one of these precious days I have left to live will most probably be spent in love with you, since I can't imagine what force could probably make that feeling go away. I'm saying that I don't want to go through any more of those days without being your wife.'

'Hmm.' Colin furrowed his brow. 'Nope, afraid I'm still not with you.'

'Nuptials, Sir,' Liz clarified, 'the holy union of Marriage. As in, William and Rita Fish request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter Elizabeth Agnes to Colin Leonard Mathews.'

Colin blinked. 'Your middle name is Agnes?' He blinked again. 'Hang on a minute… what did you just say?'

-x-

Spike answered the front door irritably after the fifth long, urgent ring of the doorbell.

'You're too late, guys,' he told the couple grinning at him from the doorstep, 'all the schlepping's been done without you and the others have left, so unless you'd like to come in and help Lynda decide which way round she wants the TV I'd say the Moving Party's pretty much over…'

'We're getting married,' interrupted Colin, breathless and beaming.

'Huh.' Despite himself, Spike found himself echoing their stupid smiles. 'So perseverance won out over common sense after all…?' He shook his head lightly. 'Seriously though. Congratulations. I'm really pleased for you guys.'

Colin and Lizzie just nodded, still dumb and grinning.

'So, have you kids got a date in mind yet?' He continued. 'Few months… next year… year after…?'

'No,' Colin replied breezily. 'You don't understand. We're getting _married_.'

Spike wrinkled his nose in confusion.

'Now,' Liz added.

'_Now_?' Spike repeated. 'Now as in, right now?'

'Mm-hmm,' nodded Liz, hurriedly. 'No time like the present.'

'Lizzie said something about a carp,' added Colin.

'Carpe Diem…?'

'That's the one.' Colin put his arm around Lizzie. 'We're eloping to Gretna Green.'

'That's…' Spike squeezed the corners of his eyes. 'That's _nuts_.'

'Well,' Liz shrugged, 'so are we.'

'But don't people traditionally elope in secret?' Spike asked. 'I mean, what're you tellin' me about it for?'

'Oh. Yes.' Colin laid a hand on the crook of Spike's arm. 'Me and Fish have been talking, and, well… we'd really like you and Lynda to… to lend us your car.'

'Bertha? You wanna take Bertha?' Spike was a little surprised that his initial reaction was one of disappointment.

'I put it on UpStart's company insurance back when you bought it,' Colin replied, 'just in case.'

'_You_ want to drive _my_ car to Scotland and back?'

'I'll have you know I'm a very sensible driver.'

'Colin, sensible drivers don't make "Vroom Vroom" noises every time they overtake.'

Liz snorted a giggle.

'I do not do that!' Colin protested.

'Yes you do,' Lizzie snickered. '_and_ you do the Stevie Wonder Dance in the driver's seat every time a song you like comes up on the radio.'

'Well, that settles it,' Spike replied. 'There's no way I'm just giving you Bertha.'

Colin threw his hands up into the air. 'Well, now we're going to have to elope by train! It'll cost a fortune and take forever. And what's so romantic and impulsive about having to change at Victoria?'

Spike folded his arms. 'Is Gretna pretty?'

'It's in Scotland,' Liz told him. 'Of course it's beautiful.'

'Romantic?'

'Pretty much.'

Spike chewed his lip. _Carpe Diem_. He couldn't pretend that phrase hadn't been playing on his mind since Kenny's sudden demise either. It seemed like a stupid idea – they had the unpacking to get on with, and a backlog of work, Lynda would hate it… on the surface, anyway. But perhaps today was a day for doing stupid things that felt right. And, stupid as it was, all he wanted to do at that moment – all he'd wanted to do since he'd seen the lines on Kenny's monitor run flat – was to run, to run far, far away from Norbridge and UpStart that damn crematorium.

'You can have Bertha,' Spike told them carefully, 'on one condition. Me and Lynda are coming too.'

Colin frowned. 'You're eloping too?'

Spike shrugged. 'You guys'll be needing witnesses, right? A Best Man – a Maid Of Honour?'

'And Lynda will be happy with this,' replied Colin, 'will she…?'

'Hmm.' Spike pondered this. He turned around and searched the hallway behind himself for a large, blue suitcase. Lifting the case up, he unzipped it part way and quickly checked the contents. He nodded with satisfaction and passed it over to Colin, who buckled a little under its weight. He rummaged in his jeans pocket and retrieved a bunch of keys, which he tossed to Lizzie.

'You got your stuff?' He asked.

'Yeah.' Liz nodded her head at a couple of hurriedly packed bags behind them.

'Load up,' Spike ordered, 'open the kerb side back door and get the engine running.'

'Why?' Liz began, but Spike had already disappeared back into the house.

Colin and Lizzie shrugged at each other and quickly followed the American's instructions, sitting in the front seats of the Ford Granada with the engine ticking over. They didn't have long to wait. An indignant scream went up inside the house and was swiftly followed by the sight of Spike lumbering at speed out of the front door with a noisily protesting Lynda slung in a fireman's lift over his shoulder.

'Oh sweet Lord,' Liz murmured as her furious, kicking, biting Editor was carried closer and closer to the car.

'I'm NOT going!' Lynda cried, pummelling Spike's back. 'Put me DOWN!'

Spike unceremoniously pushed Lynda into the back seat, slipping in next to her and locking the back door.

'Go!'

Liz released the handbrake and screeched off down the road.

'Where are you taking me?' Lynda demanded.

'Vacation,' her boyfriend panted.

'Oh no you bloody well don't!'

'Oh yes we bloody well are.'

'I've got mountains of work to do,' Lynda protested, 'I've just had lots of time off work…'

'Sure,' retorted Spike, 'to move house and grieve for your best friend. You need a proper break. Julie can keep the place ticking over for another couple of days.'

Lynda narrowed her eyes at Spike. 'I think I left the grill on,' she attempted.

'No you didn't,' Spike replied calmly. 'I switched everything off and locked everything before I grabbed you.'

'You've been planning this for ages, haven't you?' Seethed Lynda. 'Plotting. Scheming.'

'Lynda, I swear, it was a spur of the moment thing…'

'Oh really?' Lynda turned her ire to Colin, in the seat in front of her. 'How come this pair are in on it, then?'

'Do your seatbelt up, Lynda,' was all that Colin could think of to say.

'You rat!' Lynda reached around the passenger seat's headrest and slapped Colin on the side of the head.

'Ow! What was that for?'

'Wasn't this that Very Important Thing you had to talk to me about? Eh?'

'Um…' stalled Colin, before he was hit on the side of the head again.

'Rubbing my face in it, were you?' She kicked the back of Colin's seat.

'Stop hitting Colin,' Liz warned from the driver's seat. 'Do you want me to turn this car around?'

'Yes I do!' Lynda kicked the seat again.

'Lynda, stop it,' sighed Spike. 'Stop it… are you listening to me?'

Lynda screamed in frustration again.

'Don't make me take extreme measures, Lynda.'

'You have just abducted me and manhandled me into the back of my own car, you bastard foreigner,' yelled Lynda, 'what could possibly be a more drastic measure than that?'

Spike reached into a carrier bag that he'd brought into the car with Lynda. 'Just so you know, I don't particularly want to do this,' he told her, 'but if you don't behave and stop risking a car crash I'm gonna have to.' He pulled out the contents of the bag and showed it to Lynda. It was a small wooden box with a business card Sellotaped to it.

Lynda stopped in her tracks. 'Spike, what are you doing?'

'I'm taking Kenny hostage,' Spike told her, simply. 'You scream, you hit, you kick, he's motorway grit.'

'You wouldn't,' Lynda breathed. 'Spike, he was your friend too!'

'I know,' Spike nodded. 'And I know that he'd want you to take a few days vacation at a stressful time like this.'

'_He's right, you know,_' Kenny told Lynda as he carefully buckled himself into the middle back seat. '_He's often right._'

Lynda opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. 'Don't throw him on the motorway,' she said to Spike, quietly.

Spike nodded, resting the ashes between them. 'We'll find somewhere pretty to scatter him when we get there.'

Lynda folded her arms. 'Where _are_ we going, anyway?'

'Me and Sir are off to get hitched,' explained Liz. 'You're the Maid Of Honour.'

'Oh,' Lynda replied. She looked out of the window for a moment. 'I've never been one of those before,' she added.

She thought for a moment.

'Make me wear pink,' she announced at length, 'and I'll murder you.'


	31. Acceptance 2

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Acceptance

-x-

Two

-x-

'Vroom! Vroom vroom!'

'Colin.'

'VROOM! Vuh-room-broom…'

Now in the front passenger seat, Lynda pushed her fingers through her long curls in exasperation. 'It doesn't count as overtaking if you just happen to be in a slightly faster moving traffic jam than the people in the next lane, you know.'

The traffic in front of them ground to a halt yet again, and Colin pulled up the handbrake with an irritable sigh. There was a long pause as they all gazed at the unmoving cars through their windows.

'I brought Travel Scrabble,' offered Liz, passing the small plastic box to her fiancé in front of her.

'No,' Colin told her, taking the game out of her hands abruptly. 'I'm not playing with you.'

'What?' Lizzie protested, 'why?

'Ever tried playing Scrabble with a Dyslexic?' Colin addressed the rest of the car rhetorically. 'Ever tried playing Scrabble with an incredibly competitive Dyslexic who refuses to admit she's wrong, even in the face of the Oxford English Dictionary…'

'You're being very Discriminatory,' Liz growled.

'…who claims Discrimination every time you don't let her have a word,' completed Colin. He winced a little in the following silence, feeling Lizzie's glare burning into the back of his neck. 'Why isn't this traffic moving?' he muttered.

'It's the M25, it's a Sunday afternoon,' Lynda retorted. 'What did you expect? None of you have thought any of this through, have you?'

'It's just a bit of a snarl up,' Spike soothed from behind Lynda. 'It'll clear soon enough.'

'I mean,' added Lynda, 'you're planning to marry someone you can't play _Scrabble_ with?'

'There are other games,' Liz replied, quietly.

'Yeah,' chimed Spike, 'Scrabble compatibility's not exactly the cornerstone of a successful marriage.'

Lynda shrugged. 'Don't you think that maybe you should get to know each other a little bit better first?'

Colin clenched the steering wheel. 'Lynda, for the last time, we are _not_ going back!'

'I'm not talking about going back to Norbridge. Let's just look beyond a few days wasted driving all over the country, shall we?' Lynda looked from Colin to Liz. 'This is your lives we're talking about. I just think you're taking this decision a bit too lightly, that's all.'

'Well, that's up to me and Colin!' Snapped Liz.

'Liz, from the way you were acting with Colin this morning it was as if you were moments away from dumping him…'

'Well, I wasn't!'

Lynda turned back to Colin. 'And what about just before that,' she asked Colin, 'in the kitchen, when you were…' she trailed off. Colin had stuck a few letters on the Scrabble board and held it up, so that only she could see it.

The letters on the board spelled 'STOP'.

She shot him a perplexed look. He turned the board back around and started sticking on different letters.

'What about the kitchen?' Asked Spike.

Colin showed her the board again. The new message read 'LATER', then, underneath it, 'ALONE'. He tapped the word 'alone', urgently.

'What about the kitchen?' Spike repeated.

Lynda stalled for the briefest moment, then replied. 'This idiot,' she told the pair on the back seat, pointing at Colin, 'mistook Kenny's ashes for tea and nearly drank them. Is that the kind of man you really want to marry, Liz?'

'Yes,' replied Liz, stony faced.

'Jesus, Lynda,' sighed Spike, 'I know you're down on marriage, but they're adults, and it's their choice. Would you give it a rest?'

'I'm just trying to look out for you guys,' Lynda replied, pointedly staring at Colin.

'Well, don't,' Liz muttered from the back.

Colin didn't respond. The traffic was beginning to move again, so he released the brake and resumed the slow crawl forwards without another word.

-x-

'I'm bored'

'We're all bored.'

'How long do you think this traffic jam's going to go on for?'

'How long's a piece of string?'

'Um… depends on the string really, doesn't it?'

'Exactly.'

'I mean, are we talking scrap ends of string, or a ball of it, or…?'

'And that's my point.'

'So… what's that got to do with a traffic jam?'

'Oh for the love of… forget it.'

'Can we have the radio on?'

'No! You'll do the Dance.'

'But I'm bored!"

'Well… play a game or something.'

'Travel Scrabble…?'

'No!'

-x-

'I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with…' Lynda looked around in the car, then out of her window. 'T.'

'Tarmac?'

'Traffic.'

'Travel Scrabble!'

'No.'

'Trainer?' Liz asked, pointing at a solitary, exhaust greyed Reebok perched pathetically on top of a road sign.

'Well done, Liz,' Lynda yawned.

'See, I'd call that a sneaker,' Spike interjected.

'That's because you're an idiot,' replied Lynda. 'Don't try to push your Cultural Imperialism on us, it's a trainer.'

'Not fair…' muttered Spike as Liz gazed about herself for inspiration.

'OK. _I_ spy, with my little eye, something beginning with S. W.'

'Spare Wheel.'

'Spike's Watch.'

'Is it Central Reservation?' asked Colin.

'Yes!' beamed Liz.

'You don't spell Central Reservation with an S or a W!'

'Liz does.'

Lynda rolled her eyes. 'Well, that doesn't count! I don't make exceptions to the crazy way Spike spells things, missing out vowels and silent Gs, as if every word in the English language suddenly has to be spelled phonetically, so we're not making a special case for Lizzie either.'

'I spy…' continued Colin, loudly.

'No you don't! It didn't count!'

'Something beginning wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…' Colin paused to draw a new breath. '…iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiith… Ow!'

'Something beginning with Ow?' echoed Liz.

'Spike…' Colin turned around to Spike in annoyance. 'Lynda's hitting me again!'

'Yep,' noted Spike.

'Aren't you going to do anything about it?'

'Aaaah…' Spike sat back, resting his hands behind his head. 'You deserved it that time.'

-x-

'Cockfosters.'

'Holborn.'

'Hammersmith.'

'Um… Bank.'

'You can't have Bank.'

'Why not?'

'Liz fudged you.'

'When?'

'When she crossed the river.'

'But that was three moves ago!'

'She's 15th Level. That sticks the fudge for seven moves.'

'Oh… All right, then. I'm playing my reverse card.'

'You sure?'

'Get this: King's Cross St Pancras.'

'Oh, you Bitch!'

'Who's next?'

'Me. Cockfosters.'

'Ah, Geez! We're back to Cockfosters?'

'It's all I can do. I'm being bounced on three sides, it's sent me into spin.'

'This game is gonna take forever. Ladbroke Grove.'

'Marble Arch.'

'East Finchley.'

'Cockfosters.'

'Stop saying Cockfosters!'

-x-

Lynda concentrated hard as she overtook a lorry and smoothly brought the car back into the left hand lane. Subconsciously, she glanced at Spike for approval.

'You're doin' great,' he cooed quietly, in treacle tones.

'I know I am,' replied Lynda, before she could stop herself. She shot a quick look over her shoulder. 'How are you kids doing in the back?'

Colin looked up at her from a sheet of paper. 'Are we there yet?'

'We've only just passed Rugby,' Lynda informed him. 'We've go a way to go yet.'

'I've got it,' Lizzie announced victoriously, 'it's "Digby The Giant Dog".'

Colin clawed at his face in frustration. 'There are no "G"s. I've already told you there are no "G"s. Twice! "G" was the gallows struts, remember?' Colin waved the sketch of a legless hanging man in Lizzie's face. '_Remember_?'

'I need "G"s for "Digby the Giant Dog"?' Liz asked, innocently.

'Yes! Yes, you need "G"s! You need three "G"s. One in "Digby", one in "Dog" and, crucially, one in "Giant"! "G" is, in fact, the most frequently used letter in the film title "Digby the Giant Dog"!' Colin started to screw his hangman sketch into a tight ball.

'What are you doing?' Liz protested.

'I'm not playing this with you either,' Colin told her. 'It's as bad as the Scrabble.'

'I am Dys-bloody-lexic!' Liz protested, 'don't take this out on me!'

'Aaargh!'

In a fit of utter frustration, Colin crammed the scrunched ball of paper into his mouth.

'What are you doing now?' Liz snapped, 'is that supposed to impress me – eating paper? There's nothing I can do about my Dyslexia, Sir, and you knew that when you…'

'Miff oi ear…' mumbled Colin through a mouthful of paper, 'mboud ur muddy dij-re-jia un mur vym, I…'

Liz grabbed a corner of the wadded paper between his lips and ripped it out in one quick move.

'Ow!' Colin cried, 'paper cut! What did you do that for?'

Liz leaned towards him, seriously. 'You're really hot when you're angry, you know that?'

'What have I told you two?' Lynda barked as she overtook a caravan, 'I'm willing to put up with the bickering, but I won't stand for any Lovey Dovey stuff in _my_ car.'

'But we're getting married…'

'I _know_ you are, would you stop banging on about it? Now get your hand off that girl's thigh before I throw you both out into the fast lane.'

Colin removed his errant hand and shoved it into his pocket, grumpily.

'Technically,' Spike muttered to Lynda, 'you're supposed to use the rear view mirror for watching the road behind you, not what might be goin' on in the back seat…' He caught another little movement in the back seat and turned around to face the two passengers sternly. 'That is _not_ an open invitation for you two to do whatever you want!'

'But…' began Liz.

'But nothing,' Lynda replied. 'While you're under this roof, you'll abide by our rules.'

'But…'

Spike pointed a finger of warning at the other pair. 'Not another peep.' He sat back in his seat with a sigh. 'Kids.'

'Don't act like this trip wasn't your idea in the first place,' muttered Lynda under her breath.

'Spike?' Liz tapped Spike on the shoulder, apologetically. 'Colin needs a wee.'

-x-

It was well past 8 at night when a red Granada pulled up at the Travelodge in Sheffield. Joyce James looked up from the surreptitious game of Solitaire she had laid out on the reception desk and with mild interest watched the four young travellers all try to get their luggage out of the boot at the same time. They seemed to sort themselves into two couples – one getting entangled in the seemingly simple task of retrieving their two smaller holdalls, the other noisily hauling a big suitcase onto the tarmac, casually tossing insults at one another as though they were blowing kisses. As soon as the quartet turned towards the motel's entrance, Joyce turned to her computer monitor, faking busyness. She let them settle at the desk in front of her and wait a few seconds before she looked up at them, brightly.

'Welcome to Travelodge Sheffield,' she greeted them. 'How may I help you this evening?'

'We need a room,' announced a dark haired woman, carrying a small wooden box. 'We are _not_,' she hissed, evidently for the benefit of one of the others with her, 'sleeping in that bloody car!'

'Two doubles?' Joyce referred to her monitor. 'That will be £80 for the night. Are you paying separately, or together?'

'Eighty quid?' The shorter man exclaimed in horror.

Joyce frowned as the four young travellers formed an impromptu Huddle. She pretended not to try to hear what they were murmuring to one another, but she was fairly sure that she made out a Scottish voice whisper something about 'Daylight Robbery' and American accent add something about still being 'broke from the move'. In one fluid movement, the Huddle split, and spread out into a wall in front of Joyce.

'What about one room for four?' asked the red haired girl. 'You do them, don't you?'

Joyce cocked an eyebrow. 'A _family_ room…? That's £55.'

'Much better,' grinned the shorter man. 'We'll take it.'

'The four of you,' repeated Joyce, flatly. She shrugged, and went back to her computer. 'What's the name?'

'Lynd…' began the dark haired woman, but the man beside her cut her off.

'Mr & Mrs Smith,' he told Joyce gladly in a broad American accent.

Joyce's eyebrow went on another journey towards her fringe. 'Mr & Mrs Smith…?'

'Spike…' hissed the brunette in irritation.

'What?' beamed the American. 'C'mon,' he added in a tone he evidently didn't think Joyce could hear, 'you never wanted to sign in as Mrs Smith?'

'Mr & Mrs Smith…' Joyce tapped the name into the computer. She gazed up at the other couple. 'And…?'

'Liebenstein,' announced the other man, merrily. 'Hershel and Golde Liebenstein.'

'Right,' attempted Joyce as the young woman who had just been announced to her as Mrs Golde Liebenstein began to corpse.

'L, I, E…' helped "Mr Liebenstein", 'B, E, N… Stein. As in… Stein.'

Joyce handed them a key with an unimpressed purse of the lips. 'Room 27. Ground floor – turn left, it's at the end of the corridor. Breakfast's 7 til 9.'

"Mrs Smith" snatched the key from Joyce with only a briefly grunted 'Thank you', and the four travellers trundled away down the corridor, whispering amongst themselves.

-x-

'Hershel Liebenstein?!?' Spike hissed, once they were out of the receptionist's earshot.

'Yes?' asked Colin, innocently.

'Why?' Spike demanded. 'She coulda kicked us out!'

'You expect me to give my real name to somebody if _you're_ using an Alias?' Colin snorted a derisory chuckle. 'No fear, Spike.'

'Signing in as Mr & Mrs Smith is just a bit of fun…'

'And Hershel and Golde Liebenstein aren't fun?'

'But…' Spike began to struggle. 'But me and Lynda _look_ like Smiths. We could pull off Smith.'

Colin held his hands up by his shoulders, his palms pointed ceilingwards. 'You don't think I can pull off Jewish? My life, already!'

'Stop it,' Spike sighed. 'We're renting a Motel room, not a New York Deli.'

Colin gently hit Liz's shoulder as she passed.

'Always with the Anti-Semitic stereotyping, this Shaygetz.'

Liz waggled her finger at Spike. 'Shame on you, young man.'

'Stop it!' Insisted Spike. 'Lynda, tell them to… Lynda, are you laughing?'


	32. Acceptance 3

Acceptance

-x-

Three

-x-

'Bunk Beds?' Liz cocked her head at the child-sized bunks by the door.

'This _is_ a Family Room, I suppose,' replied Lynda, setting Kenny's ashes carefully down on the dresser. 'Needless to say, me and Spike are having the Grown Up Bed.'

'And why is that, exactly?' Liz crossed her arms.

Spike shrugged, giving the double bed an experimental bounce. 'You guys are short enough to fit in the kiddie beds.'

'Well, aren't we throwing a lot of stones from inside our diminutive glass houses?' Liz tipped the contents of her holdall onto the bottom bunk, sprayed her underarms quickly with deodorant and ran a worn-down lipstick tube over her mouth. 'Right,' she announced, 'that's me freshened up. Let's go and get drunk.'

'Aren't you supposed to be getting married tomorrow?' Lynda asked.

'Exactly,' Liz replied. 'Last night of freedom and all that… no offence, Sir…'

'None taken, Fish.'

'…and I'll be buggered if I'm spending it sober in a Motel room.' She clocked Colin's concerned gaze. 'I'm not talking the full L Plates and Stripper here, but couldn't we at least have some semblance of a Stag and Hen night? Just find a pub somewhere for a couple of snifters?'

'Sounds like a plan,' Spike replied, jumping to his feet. 'It's about time I got down to some Best Manly duties. So, then. Stag.' He pointed at a still-worried Colin. 'The night is young, the bright lights of outer Sheffield are calling - whaddaya wanna do?'

Colin puffed up his cheeks and exhaled noisily through his lips in an exaggerated "thinking" gesture. 'We… could… drink all the spirits in the minibar and then replace them so they won't know 'til we've checked out?'

Spike and Liz pulled the same face at his suggestion.

'No, seriously,' he continued, 'my cousin showed me how to do it once. You can even mix up tea to look like whiskey, they'll never be able to tell the difference…'

Liz shook her head. 'My vote's still with the pub. Lynda?'

Lynda folded her arms, grumpily. 'I don't want to go anywhere too smoky.'

'I guess we can sit outside,' shrugged Spike.

'Or noisy,' Lynda added. 'Or trendy. And not an Old Man Pub. They creep me out'

'You want us to go out in a town we don't know,' Spike clarified, 'at half past eight on a Sunday night, and look for a quiet, smoke free, trend free, old man free pub…? Isn't that gonna be kinda difficult?'

'Don't start at me for being difficult,' Lynda snapped, 'I didn't even want to come here!'

'And don't we all know it?' retorted Spike.

'I don't really want to go to the pub either…' began Colin.

'Who asked you?' Spike yelled.

'You've never been a Best Man before, have you, Spike?'

Lynda rubbed her face. 'Can I make a suggestion?'

'Shoot.'

'You want to go out, Liz wants to go out… Colin and me want to stay in. Why don't we just do that, and everyone'll be happy?'

'You mean…' Liz frowned. 'The Best Man takes the Bride out on her Hen Night, the Maid of Honour sees to the Groom's Stag party…? Hardly the done thing.'

'Liz,' retorted Lynda,' this time last night you were still at the wake of the young man currently sitting in a box on the dressing table, and you've spent your entire engagement so far getting your employer and colleague to elope you and your non-Scrabble-compatible fiancé up the M1 as slowly as possible. I don't think that The Done Thing has yet featured once in this whole charade – why start now?'

'I suppose…' Liz sighed. 'Although I'm not sure I'm happy with this… I mean, what if you two end up having more fun than us?'

'Can anyone remember,' muttered Colin, turning the TV remote over in his hands, 'if Top Gear's on tonight?'

Liz slung her jacket on, hurriedly. 'Let's go.'

Spike grinned at Lynda as he grabbed the wooden box off the dressing table. 'C'mon, Kenny.'

'What are you taking Kenny for? You've got the car keys, I can't escape.'

'I know. I just thought he'd have more fun out with us.' Spike winked. 'Don't wait up.'

'Try not to snog anyone.'

'Back atcha.'

'That's sick!'

Spike and Liz swung out of the room, closing the door behind them, leaving the other two in a thick silence.

Colin sniffed. 'Scrabble, then? I'll put the kettle on.'

Lynda just folded her arms. Colin paused, nervously.

'Or… would you rather another round of Eye Spy?'

'Tell me what it is.'

Colin frowned in confusion. 'It's a guessing game where you try to work out what the other person's thinking of by…'

'The secret, Mathews! This huge secret you were going to tell me in the kitchen, that apparently only I could so much as know about. You didn't think I engineered this night in with you for the company, did you?'

'Oh.' Colin sighed.

'Because it sounded important,' Lynda continued. 'You were using your Serious Face, which I've always found particularly ominous.'

'My "Serious Face"?'

'Yes,' nodded Lynda. She pointed at his expression. 'That one right there. It's very off-putting.'

'Oh,' said Colin again, and sat down on the floor.

'You said it was about you and me,' Lynda prompted, perching on the corner of the bed.

Colin nodded. 'Mainly.' He opened up the Travel Scrabble box and started to set the board up on the floor.

'You're having second thoughts about getting married,' Lynda announced, 'aren't you?'

'No.'

'Really?' Lynda sounded incredulous. 'But it's insane!'

'If the hat fits…'

'Colin, you're actually worrying me a little bit here. Earlier, you said something about bad timing, something that happened last night. Will you just tell me what's going on?'

Colin looked up from the Scrabble board, biting his lip. 'Know how I've been getting the receptionist to send me through all your Business Calls since what happened with Kenny…?'

'Well, I do now.'

'Just trying to lighten your load, Lynda.'

'In my head, I'm opening up my Black Book and adding this to the long list of reasons I'm eventually going to have to murder you and bury you under several feet of wet cement,' Lynda told him, 'but don't let that stop you. Go on with your story.'

'I got a call last night.' Colin paused a little. 'From Bobby Campbell.'

'Campbell?' Lynda arched an eyebrow. 'I thought we'd heard the last of that cockroach when we cut the financial apron strings.'

'Well, it turns out that he's been keeping quite a keen eye on us,' Colin replied. 'Especially with the Meningitis Campaign.'

'Knew he'd hate it…'

'Lynda, he loves it. Like I've been saying, it's a big hit. We're getting enquiries about syndication from University towns all over the country.' Colin drummed his fingers on the board. 'He wants to take UpStart National.'

'That's hardly his call. He's got nothing to do with us…'

'…for now. He's interested in a Merger.'

'No way. We're independent.'

'He's offering an amazing deal, Lynda. He must really, really want in.' Colin drummed his fingers again. 'He's only got one condition…'

'Let me guess,' Lynda growled. 'He wants my paper but he doesn't want me, right? He wants you to boot me out and get in some puppet that'll toe his editorial line.'

Colin sighed again. 'Lynda…'

'Well,' she continued, 'I am not going to roll over just like that, Colin Mathews.'

'Lynda?'

'I _knew_ it! Whenever anybody says "we need to talk" it _always_ means…'

'_Lynda, would you just shut up and listen for a second?'_

'Lynda, would you just shut up and listen for a second?'

Lynda stopped in her tracks.

'I just told you,' Colin explained, 'I'd intercepted your call. Campbell was trying to get through to you. He doesn't just want to keep you on, he wants to make you a Partner.'

'So what's his condition?'

'Well… for the deal to go ahead it, um… it has to go ahead without me.'

Lynda blinked and frowned at Colin's small, resolved smile. Slowly, she sank down from the side of the bed to the floor on the other side of the Scrabble board.

'You? Why you?'

'Why me?' Colin snorted a laugh. 'Lynda, you have _met_ me, haven't you?'

Lynda opened her mouth to reply, but apparently Colin's question had been rhetorical, since he carried on regardless.

'Well, Campbell's met me too.' Colin dug into the Scrabble bag. 'Apparently I'm too much of a liability. He was very definite about that. He's only interested in the package if I'm not in it. He didn't exactly trust me to pass the message on. There'll be a letter about it on your desk any day I imagine. I just wanted you to hear it from me first.'

'Bollocks. That little shit! Well, I'm not doing it.'

'Y.'

'Why? Because he obviously just wants a Scalp, someone I'll miss, to prove he's still the boss of me…'

'No. Y'. Colin held up the Scrabble tile to show Lynda before throwing it back in the bag. 'Thanks for the clarification, though.' He held out the bag for Lynda to draw a tile from. 'Would you really miss me?'

'S.'

'Was that "S" or "Yes"?'

Lynda showed him her tile. 'S'. She began to pull her letters from the bag. 'And yes. In the words of Henry Higgins, I've grown accustomed to your face. Not to mention, the madness in your method. I couldn't work with a straight FD now, how would I be supposed to read the books if they were done properly?'

There was a long pause. Lynda stared down at the game on the carpet. 'I need you.'

'Why?' Colin asked, craning his head round to her letters, 'what are you trying to spell?'

'Not "U"… can we just forget about the bloody Scrabble for a minute?' She scratched her head. 'Look, I need you at the paper, OK? If only to make sure that there's somebody I can stand next to when I need to look comparatively sane.'

'No you don't…'

'And I need you as a friend. You may not have noticed, but I'm sort of running out of those at the moment.'

'Exactly.'

'What?'

'You used to reckon that you _needed_ Sarah at the paper. You used to reckon that you _needed_ Kenny. But you didn't in the end, did you? You don't need me any more than you did them.'

Lynda stared at him. 'You _want_ to leave. Don't you?'

Colin poked at his own tiles. 'Ever been absolutely, positively sure you love something, only to find out that's not really the case after all? Only for something - or someone - to arrive that you do really love, and it's so much more than that first thing. And then you realise that you never loved the first thing in the first place, never needed it, because you didn't understand what it was to love and need back then. You just… really _liked_ it.'

Lynda paused, trying to sort Colin's speech into some sort of sense. 'Are we still talking about your job?'

'I think it's going to be a lot more comfortable for both of us if I say it is, isn't it?'

'Yep.'

'Yeah, then. Of course I'm talking about the job.'

'You still tried to escape…'

'…but you dragged me back in.' Colin gave her a quick grin. 'Don't tell me you thought I really believed you were haunting me, did you?'

'Don't tell _me_ you thought I had no idea your "resignation" wasn't just a ploy to get yourself more pay.'

'Actually, it was a ploy to get more attention. You had to go and better it by setting yourself on fire. Typical woman.'

'And how do I know _this_ isn't just another attention seeking exercise?'

'You don't. You're just going to have to trust me.'

'Trust Colin Mathews? Has the world gone completely insane?'

_'Shut up and listen.'_ Kenny sat himself on the dresser where his ashes had been. _'He's gearing up to say something profound – look, he's got his Serious Face on!'_

'What have I got keeping me in Norbridge, Lynda? Don't really have friends, grown apart from the rest of the Mathews clan, the town itself's about as exciting as a rainy Monday at a cardboard factory.' He toyed with his tiles again. 'There was a time, not long ago, when all I really had, all that tied me to anything at all, was my job, and… well, and you. There was a time that I did genuinely think I needed you…'

He paused. Lynda avoided his gaze and concentrated on laying down her first word.

'But,' continued Colin, 'I didn't. I've realised that now. I just… really like you. And I think that's good enough, don't you?'

'Not good enough to keep you, evidentially,' Lynda told the board. 'You can like me and the job as much as you please, it's never going to be as much as you like Liz.'

'Bingo,' Colin replied. 'Is that allowed?'

Lynda screwed up her nose. 'Of course it's allowed, you daft…'

'Good.' Colin laid an I, an N, a G and an O beneath Lynda's B. 'Thought it might be a Brand Name or something.'

'What would you do?' Asked Lynda. 'If you left, I mean.'

'Lizzie's a girl with itchy little feet,' Colin told her, jotting down his score, 'it's part of the reason I like her. She's an adventurer. I want to be like that. I'm not the sort of person who can keep still for too long either, and the paper… Norbridge… it's turned into a standstill. Sometimes I feel like the last few years of my life I haven't been growing, I've been shrinking. Getting stuck in a rut, becoming a small, frightened, dependant person. I watched Kenny Phillips and Sarah Jackson get away and start living their own lives, but I didn't feel confident enough to do that… now that _is_ a world gone insane. I'm being given a chance, Lynda. From Lizzie and Campbell alike, I'm being given a chance to live my life… before I end up in a box on the dresser.'

Lynda continued to scowl at the board. 'And what about me? What am I supposed to do?'

'You're supposed to live your life as well you can before the wooden box calls just like the rest of us.'

'Alone.'

'You're not alone.'

'You're abandoning me!'

'No I'm not. I'm just getting my priorities straight. Maybe you should, too.'

_'Listen to the man, Lynda. You're always doing this! You did it with Sarah, you did it with me… I mean, you've got me sitting here giving you advice and I've been dead for weeks! Why is it that you tried to cling to all of us while you pushed the one person you _do_ need as far away as possible? You know he's right on this one.'_

'Let me go, Lynda.'

_'Let us both go.'_

Lynda stared down at the board. 'Well. I don't have much choice here, do I?' She sighed. 'Go.'

'Really?'

Lynda laid a G next to the O of Bingo. 'Go. Three points. Bit rubbish.'

She paused again. She looked up to the dressing table, but there was nobody there any more.

'You all right, Lynda?'

'It's all ending,' she murmured, 'isn't it? I mean, it's been ending for a while, really, but now… this is it.'

'Lynda, you've been made an offer you can't refuse. This isn't the end for you, kid. It's only just the beginning.'

'I mean, for us. All of us, from the start. You and me.'

'There's no such thing as You And Me.'

Lynda breathed out a long, deep breath. 'Remember that hug I gave you a while ago?'

'Four years ago, you mean?' Prompted Colin. 'Yeah, I remember.'

'I'd like to have it back now, thanks.'

Colin shuffled around to her side of the board and put an awkward arm around her.

'You said you like me?' Lynda asked.

'Fraid so.'

'Kenny says to say I like you too.'

'Really?' Colin looked at her. 'You mean, you've been hearing him as well?'

Lynda looked back up at the empty dresser. 'I did.'

'Well, that's something,' Colin replied. 'I thought I might be going mad.'

Lynda smiled slyly into space. 'What do you mean, "_going_ mad"?'

'Says you.'

-x-

Midnight came, and went. A stillness settled over the room. After some time, the door opened again, flooding the room with sound and movement. The two people slumped together on the floor stirred a little and muttered complaints in their sleep. The interlopers went from their shared giggles of victory to a noisy study of the sleeping pair on the floor.

'Holy Moly,' Liz exclaimed in alcohol loudened tones, 'what's been going on here, eh?'

'Tried to warn you, Liz,' Spike announced, pushing the box of ashes back onto the dresser, 'they're not to be trusted.'

'I'll say.' Liz nudged Colin with the tip of her boot. He stirred a little and opened her eyes blearily.

'F'sh…? J'ave fun? Wotchoo gerrupter?'

'Alcohol and Rock'n'Roll, the usual.' Liz shrugged, drunkenly. 'Question is, though, what did _you_ get up to tonight?'

'Nuff'n.'

Liz leaned in to Colin as Spike delicately picked Lynda's dozing form up off the floor. 'Doesn't look like nothing, Sir.'

'Mmph?'

'Admit it.' Liz folded her arms. 'You've been playing Scrabble with another woman, haven't you?'


	33. Acceptance 4

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Acceptance

-x-

Four

-x-

'Coffee, Spike?'

'Thanks'.

'Milk?'

'Sure.'

'Cake?'

'Um…' Spike accepted the cake, warily. 'What exactly did you want to see me about?'

Kenny furrowed his brow slightly. 'Well that's nice, isn't it? What's got you all on edge?'

'Don't take this the wrong way, Kenny, but don't you think you're a little… _dead_ to be arranging an emergency meeting?'

Kenny cocked his head, curiously. 'Can you think of a better emergency to have an emergency meeting about?'

'At Czar's?'

'I like Czar's. Spike, you have to remember, I'm British. I need a cup of tea and a biscuit in a time of crisis.' Kenny took a sip from his cup. 'I've been drinking a lot of it lately,' he added.

'But why now? I mean, it's the middle of the night…'

'Of course it's the middle of the night, Spike. This _is_ a dream, after all.'

'Oh.' Spike nodded in realisation. 'So, what's this meeting over, anyway?'

'Ah-ah.' Kenny wagged his finger at Spike. 'We need to wait for the others before we start on that…'

The door of Czar's jingled open. Spike turned his head, his breath caught in the back of his throat, expecting Jefford or Cooper… even half expecting to see his father. The form that he did see in the café's doorway, dressed in the same crisp white tailoring as The Late Kenny Phillips, shocked and horrified him even more.

'Sarah?!?' Spike swallowed a couple of times as the Blonde walked over to join them at their booth. 'Sarah, what happened to you? Are you… are you…'

'Relax,' Sarah replied, sitting down at the table, 'I'm still alive and well.'

'But you…'

'Think of this as more a metaphor, Spike,' Sarah continued. 'A symbol.' She turned to Kenny. 'You have told him this is a dream, haven't you?'

'Yeah.'

'I wonder why he's still insisting on taking it so literally…?'

Colin, also in white, got up from under the table. 'Lack of imagination? Poor grasp of abstract concepts?' He beamed at Spike. 'Now, you know _I'm_ not dead, Spike, you can still hear me snoring.'

He held up a finger as a sign for Spike to listen. There was indeed still a faint, regular wheezing on the edges of Spike's perception.

'Right.' Kenny smiled brightly. 'Now that we're all here, we can get down to the matter in hand. First of all, I'd like to thank you all for a lovely leaving do…'

'You mean your funeral?' Asked Spike, but was quickly "shushed" by Sarah.

'As I'm sure you all know,' Kenny continued, 'I certainly didn't want to leave, but, there you go, these things will happen. And Spike, I'm sure you're aware by now of Sarah's transfer to University…'

'But that's not like what happened with you, Kenny,' Spike replied. 'Sarah's not gone for good, she comes back at vacations…'

Sarah and Kenny exchanged glances.

'I'm making lots of new friends at Uni,' Sarah told Spike. 'I'm deputy editor of the Campus Newspaper already, and they're talking about making me editor next term. Coming back to be bossed around by Lynda Day for five months a year… it's a step back. You told me that!'

'But…' tried Spike.

'I'll probably stay up at Uni for the next holiday,' Sarah replied, 'all my mates are. Get a shop job or something to pay the rent, concentrate on my studies and my own paper. But then you knew all that already, didn't you?'

'Sure.' Spike sighed.

_Wheeze. Wheeze._

He turned to the uncharacteristically taciturn Colin. 'Well, at least we still got y…'

_Wheeze._

'Oh. Except that we don't do we?'

_Wheeze._

'There's somethin' going on, isn't there? Something you haven't told me yet.'

_Wheeze._

'You're leaving.'

'To quote Dylan Thomas, Spike, The times they are a-changing.' Colin gave him a slightly apologetic smile. 'Time to make a clean break.'

'Hum,' Spike replied.

_Wheeze._

'That's why I called the meeting,' Kenny explained. 'We've decided we want _you_ to take care of her.'

'Huh?'

'It's not that we don't trust Julie and Frazz and Tiddler and the others,' Colin added, it's just that, well…'

'She likes you,' interjected Sarah.

'She's used to you,' Kenny added.

Spike frowned. 'Who exactly are we talkin' about here? You guys got a pet hamster you wanna palm off onto me?'

'Lynda!' Chorused the other three.

'Lynda?' Spike blinked. 'Hey. I already look after Lynda! I look after her just fine…'

'But can you do it on your own?' Sarah asked.

'No running away this time,' chipped in Kenny.

'And,' Colin added, 'no more help.'

'What?' Spike exclaimed, 'you never helped me with Lynda!'

'It heartens me that you believe that, Spike,' smiled Colin.

'What the Hell are you talkin' about? I've a good mind to pop you one…'

Colin shrugged. 'Do what you like, it's your subconscious.'

Spike paused, and sighed.

_Wheeze. Wheeze._

'It's just gonna be her and me,' Spike told them, slowly, 'isn't it? Oh dear God, we're gonna end up killing each other…'

Kenny reached over and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 'She likes Red Things,' he told her, helpfully, 'if you're ever stuck for a gift, I mean…'

'I know she does,' Spike sighed.

'And Ethnic-y nick-nacks,' added Sarah. 'Stuff with little mirrors on.'

'She won't touch Quorn,' helped Colin, 'don't even try to sneak it to her, it's like trying to trick a cat into eating a worming tablet…'

'You're not helping!' Spike snapped. 'I already know all this… I mean, of course I do, you guys are all in my head…' He groaned, rubbing his temples. 'What am I gonna do?'

'Wake up.'

'Huh?'

'Wake up, Spike.'

Spike opened his eyes. Lynda was standing by his bed, brushing her hair.

'It's your turn in the shower.'

Spike blinked groggily. 'Five more minutes.'

'No,' Lynda snapped, 'now.'

'Can't one of the kids go before me?' Spike waved a vague hand towards the other pair, both crammed together into the bottom bunk bed.

'I'm letting them have a lie-in,' Lynda told him. 'They've got a big day ahead of them.'

From the bunk, Liz groaned, faintly.

'Well,' Spike yawned, 'if it isn't the blushing bride herself.'

'Mmph?' Asked Liz. 'Jesus, my head. Wossup, what're you doing here?'

'We're in Sheffield.'

'Hmm?'

'You're gettin' married today.'

'Oh.' Liz sat up, still groggy. 'Oh, aye. So I am.'

'Were you wanting me to do your hair or something?' Lynda asked Liz. 'That is what Maids of Honour are supposed to do, aren't they? I can do you braided pigtails or a French Plait, that's my repertoire.'

'Might leave it down,' Liz replied. 'You can help me get dressed or something.'

'Fine. What are you wearing?'

'Ah.' Liz bit her lip. 'Dunno yet.'

'You don't have any wedding clothes?' Spike asked.

'Of course not! We don't have any Wedding Anything. It was a snap decision to do this. We were going to get stuff on route.'

'Well,' Spike replied, 'we're en route now.'

'Yeah.' Liz paused. 'I think we might need to go shopping. Just hope we brought enough money…'

Next to her, Colin sat bolt upright from his slumber. 'Did someone just say "money"?'

'How do you do that, Sir?'

'What?'

-x-

The bright Summer morning sun was shining cheerfully on Sheffield by half past nine. For once, Spike didn't care that he was walking out of its merry rays and through glass doors into a giant, enclosed Labyrinth of retail. He was at a Mall again. He hadn't been to a Mall forever! It reminded him of a hotter climate and simpler times. He felt a wave of peace sweeping over him, and squeezed Lynda's hand. Lynda, it seemed, was unimpressed.

'I don't get it,' announced the Editor. 'I don't see a Meadow _or_ a Hall.'

'It's just a name,' Liz replied.

'It's awesome,' Spike grinned.

'It's just a big shopping centre,' huffed Lynda.

'Oh, it's more than that, Lynda.' Colin spoke with the tones of hushed reverence that an art critic would reserve for the Venus Di Milo. 'It's a palace. It's a cathedral of consumerism.' He breathed in deep before releasing his breath with a beatific sigh. 'I'm home.'

Lynda rolled her eyes. 'Be that as it may, if you two want to get to Gretna Green in time to sign your names on the dotted line today we need to get a serious move on. So.' She pulled out a piece of paper. 'Dress, flowers, rings, camera… car we've got, we'll sort out the food when we get there.'

'Suit,' Liz added.

'I brought a suit!' Colin protested.

'Which one?'

'The pony one.'

Liz grabbed his shoulders and physically pushed him towards Spike.

'Do something with him, would you?'

'But…'

'Ihateityou'renotwearingitattheweddingendofstory!'

Spike put an arm around a hurt looking Colin. 'We'll get suits and rings, you girls get the rest, huh?'

Lynda folded her list carefully. 'I suppose it will be faster if we split up. Meet you back here in an hour.'

The two parties crossed each other. As they did, Spike and Liz shot each other fast, meaningful glances.

'Nothing brown,' whispered Liz.

'Nothing orange,' hissed Spike, just as urgently, with a brief nod in Lynda's direction.

Liz smiled in agreement as she was dragged towards a large shop.

'Ach, no way, Lynda! Not BHS!'

-x-

Liz pulled open the changing cubicle curtain. 'Well?'

Lynda arched an eyebrow. 'Cut-offs aren't exactly traditional Bridalwear.'

Liz patted her denim clad buttocks. 'I like them. They can be my Something Blue. What about the top? That's white.'

Lynda shook her head. 'Too many frills. Makes you look like a toilet roll cover.'

'Fine,' Liz replied dryly. 'I got a few more to try. Don't mind my bra, it won't bite…' She pulled the ruffley top off over her head.

'How's your headache?' Added Lynda.

'Getting better, ta.'

'Have fun with my boyfriend last night then, you big thief?'

Liz snorted a laugh. 'Did I ever.' She finished fastening the second top and presented it to Lynda, who shook her head. 'Don't worry,' Liz added, 'we had to drive to find a pub, so he didn't touch a drop. As you could probably tell, _I_ did.' She started removing the rejected top. 'Did he tell you what happened?'

Lynda frowned. 'Something happened?'

'Nothing like that! There was nothing to eat in the pub so on the way back we stopped off at the services for a Cornish pasty or something… you will never guess who we saw in there.'

Lynda retained her frown. 'Frazz?'

'No. Nobody from the paper.'

'My mum?'

'Only Noel Gallagher!'

'Who?'

Liz pulled a third top over her head. 'He's in a Popular Beat Combo. Very Up-And-Coming.'

'Oh.' Lynda sighed. 'You two and your Bands. That one just looks like a nightie.'

'So I said to Spike,' continued Liz, removing the third top, 'there's no way somebody like him would just be at a Welcome Break buying a Toffee Crisp at this time of night on his own. And Spike reckoned he'd read they were on tour and guess what, there in the car park was their tour bus, so I said to him, wouldn't it be a great idea if we…' Liz stalled, fastening the zip of the fourth and final white top. 'Um…' She flashed Lynda a brief, nervous smile. 'You know, I bet Spike would be much better at telling this story than me.'

'What are you drivelling about, Lizzie? Who the Hell is Neil Callahan?'

'You know, it's not actually that important,' Liz told her, 'forget I spoke.'

'I'm trying to, believe me.' Lynda cleared her throat. 'That one's pretty.'

'Yeah,' sighed Liz, looking herself up and down in the mirror. 'I guess this is the one.'

'You know, most girls take forever to find their perfect wedding dress…'

'I'm not most girls,' Lizzie retorted, 'and besides, this isn't a dress.'

'All so fast…' Lynda muttered. 'You're really going to do this, aren't you? You're really going to go through with it.'

'Of course! Now… let's get something for you.'

'It's really happening,' Lynda sighed.

'I thought, maybe something in peacock blue…'

'I hate you, Elizabeth.'

Liz blinked. 'Navy?'

'You're a friend thief and I hate you.'

'What?'

Lynda set her face. 'He's leaving me, you know.'

'Spike's leaving you? Oh, Lynda…'

'Not Spike. Colin.'

Lizzie narrowed her eyes as she thought this through. 'He's… he quit the paper?'

'Don't sound so surprised.'

'Course I'm surprised.' Liz removed her new found Wedding Outfit, sadly. 'He loves his job. What did he quit for?'

'For you, of course.'

'What? I don't want him to quit!'

'No,' replied Lynda, quietly. 'But he does. And you're the best excuse he's ever found.'

'Oh,' Liz managed.

'He trusts you,' continued Lynda. 'He trusts you with his happiness and security a damn sight better than he does me.'

'Well.' Liz smiled a little. 'isn't that what marriage is all about?'

Lynda regarded Lizzie seriously. 'You've softened him. You've made him open his doors. You've made him weak.'

'What?'

'Don't "what" me, woman. I know full bloody well what I'm talking about. And let me tell you this. If you abuse that trust, if you smash him once he's let you inside…'

'Let me guess,' Liz added, 'sharpened sticks, red hot pokers, rusty nails…'

'You'd think the Spanish Inquisition was a Holiday Camp,' finished Lynda.

'So what are you now, his Dad?'

'No, Liz.' Lynda offered her a tight smile. 'I actually give a damn about him. Just… don't ever tell him that, OK?'

-x-

Spike tried squinting at the suit Colin was buying, in the hope that it would make it look any better. It didn't.

'Have you considered wearing white?'

'You're getting confused, Spike.' Colin slipped his credit card back into his wallet and accepted the new suit from the cashier. 'That's what she's supposed to wear.'

'No reason why the groom can't wear white too,' Spike replied. 'I… I got a vision of you in white tailoring… I think you'd look good.'

Colin rifled through a rack of ties, briefly. 'I'd look like Marty Hopkirk.'

Spike blinked. 'I think that's the first Pop Culture Reference you've ever made… what's happening to you, Man?'

'Hey! I watch Telly sometimes, just like everybody else…' Colin gave way under the weight of Spike's cynically quirked eyebrow. 'Liz always wants to watch it when it's on at teatime. It's weird. They're all in old fashioned clothes.'

'I think it's a repeat. From the 60s.'

'Oh.' Colin's face twisted up into a bitter expression of disgust. 'The _60s_.'

Colin went back to the ties. Spike watched him in silence for a good thirty seconds. 'I'm sorry Colin,' he blurted eventually, 'I just don't understand it.'

'Thank God,' Colin sighed, relieved. 'As much as I hate to admit it, Spike… neither do I. Not one little bit.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. I mean… it's a detective show, right, but one of them gets murdered in the first episode, and then only his mate can see him, but sometimes he can move stuff by blowing them and they solve crimes…? It doesn't make any sense!'

'That's not what I meant…'

'You meant me and Fish and the whole whirlwind wedding, didn't you?' Colin gave Spike a sideways glance. 'I'm not as dim as I make out, you know.' Colin leaned against the tie rack for effect, and in doing so, toppled it, sending it crashing into a window display, which in turn tumbled heavily on top of an elderly window dresser.

'Run,' mumbled Colin out of the corner of his mouth. Spike made the mistake of pausing for a second to check that the irritated old man pushing mannequin limbs off himself was OK, since when he turned back around, Colin was gone.

He eventually found Colin outside the shop, trying to look inconspicuous while leaning against a bench and frequently peering around a slightly soiled Angler's Weekly.

'All clear, Colin,' sighed Spike.

Colin binned the magazine with a self conscious sniff as the American approached. He cleared his throat and attempted a seamless continuation of their earlier conversation.

'It's because you think we're too young,' Colin told Spike, 'isn't it?'

'Kinda,' Spike shrugged, 'kinda not.'

'You don't think we've been going out long enough, then.'

'Again,' admitted Spike, 'yes and no. It's just…' He sighed. 'How are you so Goddam _sure_?'

It was Colin's turn to shrug. 'Dunno. I just am.'

'I mean, you do know that, on paper, what you're doing is a really, really bad idea?'

'Spike, all of my best plans are Really, Really Bad Ideas. It's what I do.'

'You're not worried it's all gonna go horribly wrong?'

'Of course I am. I worry that every time I think about getting out of bed in the morning. I still do it. I have to do it. Otherwise, I'd just… be in bed all day.'

'But what if you… if you end up divorced and heartbroken, with an alimony bill the size of Texas and some poor screwed up kid all before you're 30?'

'Well then…' Colin pondered this for a second. 'Well then at least I tried. They can write that on my headstone when I go, you know. "Here lies Colin Mathews. At least he tried".'

'Please,' Spike snorted. 'Like you got a say in it. Lynda already had your tombstone carved years ago. She likes to keep it in the back of the wardrobe and look at it from time to time when she needs cheering up.'

'No wonder your wardrobe was so heavy to move,' Colin replied. 'So what does it say, then?'

'"Here lie the horribly murdered remains of Colin Mathews. So it's unlikely you'll be getting that tenner back off him any time soon".'

'Actually,' Colin conceded, 'I do prefer that one.'

They fell into another silence as they walked.

'So,' added Spike, conversationally, 'when are you leaving us?'

'Officially? Yesterday.' Colin slung the suit over his shoulder. 'When did Lynda get time to tell you that?'

'She didn't. Kenny called an emergency meeting about it in my subconscious.'

'Ah.' Colin nodded. 'Good to see he's still kicking around. Haven't heard from him since his cremation.' He drew to a sudden stop outside a small boutique. 'Speaking of which, think he'd appreciate those?'

Spike pursed his lips a little, eyeing the lacy lingere and gossamer night attire in the shop's window. 'Definitely his Thing. Here.' He passed Colin the small wooden box from his rucksack. 'I'll distract 'em.'

'"La Senza"', Colin told the box, reading phonetically from the shop's sign. 'Sounds fancy, doesn't it? Like a nightclub.' He carefully placed the box in a carrier bag. 'Never say I don't take you anywhere nice.'


	34. Acceptance 5

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Acceptance

-x-

Five

-x-

Lunchtime came and went on the road as Lancashire and Cumbria sped by. It was early afternoon by the time they finally crossed the border into Scotland and navigated their way towards Gretna.

Lynda and Spike tried their best not to look like troublesome loiterers as they waited in the lobby of the Registry office. Spike watched Lynda as she paced the gritty carpet.

'Nervous?'

'Why should I be nervous?' Lynda fidgeted with her hair a little. 'I'm not the one getting married.'

'You're still nervous though, aren'tcha?'

'I am not.'

'You just hiccupped. Twice.'

'No I didn't.' Lynda tried to swallow a third hiccup. 'Oh, all right,' she conceded. 'I just don't like Registry Offices, that's all.'

'What's so scary about Registry Offices?'

'All those births,' Lynda told him, 'all those deaths, people coming in, people going out, being given forms to say they've done it… the very essence of life turned into quiet, shuffling beurocracy. Doesn't that give you the willies?'

'You just don't like Weddings,' Spike replied.

'Not particularly,' Lynda told him, 'no.'

'Is it that you're pissed at not being the centre of attention for once in your life, or just that you're worried you're gonna catch the bouquet?'

Lynda just glared at him, then shifted her attention to the couple at the Reception Desk. 'It's going to go wrong for them, isn't it?'

'Not necessarily.'

'But it is. You can't just get married that easily and that's the end of it. Something's definitely going to go wrong.'

-x-

'Colin Mathews and Elizabeth Fish,' Colin told the Receptionist cheerfully. 'Here to get hitched.'

'We've brought our Birth Certificates,' Liz added, flashing hers, 'we've even got our own witnesses. Where do we get this done?'

'Well,' the Receptionist told them, wearily, 'wherever it is that you've got booked.'

'Booked?' Colin echoed. 'I thought… isn't this the place where people elope? Like, spur of the moment sort of thing?'

'In the 18th Century,' replied the Receptionist, as she flicked through her files, 'yes. You do usually have to book these days…'

'Well, of course we've booked,' Lizzie replied with an over confident grin. 'But I'm curious… if somebody _hadn't_ booked, you definitely wouldn't be able to fit them in? Not even for a quickie ceremony on a Monday afternoon, say?'

The Receptionist sighed. 'You might be able to find a space on a quiet day like today, provided all your documents were in order…' She frowned at her files. 'Mathews and Fish, you say…?'

'Yep.'

'I don't seem to be able to find you. When did you send your notices?'

'Our… notices…?'

'Your notices of your intention to marry. We need to have them at least three weeks before your wedding date, or I'm afraid we can't by law marry you.'

Colin tried his best not to let his expression flicker. 'Oh, those. Yeah, we sent those ages ago. You should have them.'

The receptionist began to leaf through her files again. 'Really can't see them here. Mathews and Fish, you say…?'

'Don't tell me you've lost them…'

'We wouldn't lose an important document like that, Mr Mathews, We're very careful. You're just going to have to re-submit the notices and come back in three weeks.'

Colin nudged Liz's rib gently with an elbow. 'Waterworks,' he hissed from between clenched teeth.

Liz was already onto it, working up a good couple of teary eyefuls.

'What?' She gasped, 'we can't get married, just because you lost a silly piece of paper?'

The receptionist looked unimpressed. 'The law's the law.'

'But we've come all this way…'

'You've got a Glaswegian accent, Miss,' the receptionist replied. 'What's that – an hour away?'

'I left home, thank you very much, I had to…' Liz sniffed, building up a fresh set of tears, gripping Colin's shoulder. 'This man's the only person who's ever been kind to me!' She wailed. 'All I wanted to do was let him make an honest woman of me…'

'And you can,' explained the receptionist, 'in three weeks time.'

'We don't have three weeks,' cried Colin, starting to get into the swing of things.

'He's dying!' Gasped Liz.

'Dying,' Colin agreed.

'He's got… terminal…'

'Blood Clot…'

'…Cancer.'

The Receptionist arched an eyebrow. 'Terminal Blood Clot Cancer.'

Colin delicately rested the back of his hand against his worried brow like a swooning Romantic Heroine. 'The doctor's only given me a fortnight.'

'I've never heard of Terminal Blood Clot Cancer.'

'Well then you shouldn't be judging a sufferer of a very rare illness that you know nothing about, should you?'

The Receptionist shook her head. 'As much as I'd like to help you, you have to believe me. There's absolutely nothing I can…'

'Please!' chorused the melodramatic pair.

'…absolutely nothing I can… wait a minute.'

-x-

Five minutes later, Colin and Lizzie made their way victoriously back out of the Registry Office's Lobby.

'All sorted,' Colin beamed as they passed Spike and Lynda. 'They can fit us in at half past four.'

'You didn't need to book?'

'Nope.'

'What about your Banns?' Lynda asked. 'Aren't you supposed to give those a month in advance or something?'

'Technically, I suppose.'

'So how did you wing your way around that?'

'Lynda, please. You don't just "wing your way" around something as tricky as that. It takes effort, intelligence, influence…'

'We got lucky,' interjected Liz. 'Seems a few weeks ago some bloke called Odin McTrew filed a notice to marry Elspeth Flint and sent it through on a really bad fax.'

Colin nodded along with Liz, wiping an imaginary streak of sweat from his forehead in an over the top portrayal of relief.

'You stole somebody else's Banns?' Hissed Lynda, 'that's fraud!'

'No,' Liz replied, 'that's kismet. Fate obviously wanted us to get married today and threw the fax our way. We'd be fools to turn it down.'

'Yeah,' Colin agreed. 'You don't want to get on the wrong side of destiny.' He rubbed his hands together, cheerfully. 'We need to get cake.'

'We need to get changed,' Liz added.

'Yeah. We need to get changed and cake. That Tesco's we passed should have a toilet, we can kill two birds with one stone.'

Spike slung a friendly arm around Lizzie's shoulder. 'What girl doesn't dream of this special day? The supermarket cake, the human ashes in the car glove box, making yourself look like a beautiful princess in an anonymous public bathroom…'

'You're the Best Man,' Lizzie replied. 'If there _are_ any problems with the Wedding, we'll only have you to blame.'

'Oh yeah.' Spike nodded. 'I keep forgetting I'm Best Man. Never done it before.'

'Well, don't be nervous,' Colin told him, 'let's get some cake and we'll all meet up back here at… twenty past four?'

Lynda hiccupped, involuntarily.

'_I'm_ not nervous!' Spike exclaimed.

'Really?' Colin raised an eyebrow. 'Bloody Hell. I would be.'

-x-

Hic.

Hic.

Lynda tried holding her breath as she waited in the corridor. She turned and saw a handsomely be-suited American approaching her with a small wooden box and a reassuring smile.

Hic.

'You look great.'

Lynda smoothed down her new skirt suit. 'I feel overdressed.'

'Whaddaya mean? It's a Wedding, you're the Bridesmaid…'

'You should see the Bride. Believe me. Very overdressed.' She hiccupped again.

Spike smiled a little. 'Reception's all ready. I booked us a table at a little restaurant for the night, they're keeping the cake for us.' He paused. 'So, where's the Happy Couple?'

'Colin's just going over a few last minute things with the Registrar.' Lynda hiccupped again. 'Lizzie's lurking somewhere. Probably either lighting up one of those cigarettes she keeps telling us she's quit or desperately sucking Murray Mints so that we can all pretend we haven't noticed.' She hiccupped yet again. 'I just wish we could get all this over and done with and get out of here.'

'My God,' Spike replied, 'if this is what you're like at a quick Registry Office do, what kind of state must you get in at the full Church And Meringue jobs? Y'know, if you're worried I'm gonna grab you once we get in and railroad you into a double ceremony you needn't fear. This isn't exactly my idea of a dream Wedding either.'

'It's nothing to do with you!' Lynda snapped. 'It's got more to do with the fact that the people we're helping to sign their lives away are too young, too stupid and making a terrible mistake.'

'They're adults,' Spike replied. 'They know what they're getting themselves into.'

'Do they? Just because they're over 18 doesn't mean they're old enough to make such an important choice so fast.'

'Maybe they are, Lynda. Just because _you _don't feel ready yet…'

'How can you say that, Spike? After everything your parents put you through all because they made exactly the same dumb mistake that Colin and Lizzie are making right now?'

Spike glared at her. 'I see we've started aiming below the belt.'

Lynda bit her lip, swallowing the apology that she instantly knew he was due before he had the satisfaction of hearing it.

'You know,' Spike continued, 'while we're down there I could mention that your Mom and Dad's marriage didn't last any longer than mine, even though they waited a good long time…'

Lynda opened her mouth indignantly.

'And you could try telling my parents' sad story as a cautionary tale to Colin,' continued Spike, 'but as I recall his folks' more traditional courtship didn't exactly lead to a warm and fuzzy family life either. People screw up, Lynda. Marriages screw up. They know that. It's got nothing to do with when you find the person you marry and everything to do with who that person is. And who _you_ are.'

'And you've told them that, have you?'

'No, I told them they were being stupid, just like you did and they ignored me too.' He drummed his fingers on the lid of Kenny's box for a moment. 'I don't get you, Lynda. First you jump out of your skin at the thought that I might possibly be about to propose, then you're hinting at me that you would actually like to get engaged, now you're talkin' about marriage like it's a death sentence.'

'It's different when it's in front of you.' Lynda gave the Registry Office's corridors a resentful glare. 'This place makes it all so real. It's like the difference between wondering how you'd look with a tattoo and spending hours in the parlour listening to the needle drilling and drilling and…'

The door to the Wedding suite swung open, with a particularly excitable Colin Mathews still attached to it.

'Spike! You're here!'

'Yeah.' Spike scratched the back of his head. 'I got the reception all…'

'And you brought Kenny, what a nice idea. Lynda. Baby. Be a doll and take a photo, would you?'

Lynda rolled her eyes and pulled a camera out of her handbag and aimed it at Colin as he adopted an awkward pose with Spike, stiffly frozen mid handshake, grinning with a thousand yard stare like a Pools winner accepting an oversized cheque. There was a flimsy "click" and Colin relaxed out of the pose.

'Last moments of freedom with the old Best Man and all that,' continued Colin. 'I feel a bit bad for the Kennster, though. He's come all this way and he's not even an Usher…'

'He's in a 10cm cube.'

'Still…'

'He could be the confetti?'

'Spike!' cried Lynda, aghast.

'Joke.'

'Yeah, I don't think they allow confetti here, Spike,' Colin told him. 'Pity.' He turned to go, then span around suddenly, hit with a thought. 'Oh yes, that's what I came out here for. We want you to do a reading, Spike.'

'What? Why me?'

'Because Lynda already said "No".' Colin dug a folded sheet of notepaper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Spike. 'It's only short.'

Spike unfolded the paper and squinted at it. 'You're… kidding. You want me to read this? At your Wedding?'

'Thanks, Spike.' Colin slapped the American on the shoulder. 'Don't worry. You can get your own back on me when I'm Best Man for you.' He winked, turning back into the Wedding suite. 'See you on the other side.'

'He's got some nerve.' Spike shook his head at the reading again. 'Best Man? He'll be the guy handing out the Hymn Books when we get married. If he's lucky.'

Lynda looked up from her camera. 'What?'

'Well, Frazz'll be Best Man at our Wedding, obviously.'

'What do you mean, "our Wedding", Spike? Do you mean "our" as in "you and me"?'

'Nah. I was using the Royal We. Course I mean "you and me".'

'_When_ we get married, Spike? How exactly has "if" turned into "when"?'

Another door opened at the far end of the corridor. Spike grinned, relieved. 'Ah-ah, Lynda. Here comes the Bride.'

'But…'

'No buts, Lynda. This is her day… well… it's her half hour, anyway. No bickering.'

Lynda narrowed her eyes at him. 'Saved by the Belle,' she hissed. 'For now. This isn't over, Thompson.'

Spike ignored Lynda, opening his arms wide to Lizzie. 'Who's this stunning vision?'

Lizzie gave him a cheerful smile. She was, Lynda noticed, chewing gum and smelled vaguely of cigarette ash and Impulse.

'Got my flowers?' She asked Lynda.

Lynda retrieved a small bunch of Sunflowers, still in their florist's wrapper, from their resting place against the wall and handed them to Liz, who set about picking out four of the freshest. She tied three together at the stems with a bright hair bobble and used a second elastic band to attach the fourth flower's head into her hair.

'Photo?' she asked.

She blew a kiss at Lynda's camera as it clicked.

'How're your hiccups?'

Lynda blinked. 'Gone.'

'Then I think we're ready,' Lizzie announced, cheerfully. 'You walking me in, Lynda?'

'All right.'

Both women paused, and looked pointedly at Spike.

'Oh. Oh! Yeah! I guess I'll… I'll go and…'

Spike made to go into the Wedding suite, but Liz caught his shoulder, desperately.

'Wait. Spike, wait?'

'What? What's wrong? You… you don't want to…?'

Lizzie pulled a cassette out of the pocket of her shorts and handed it to him.

'My entrance music.'

-x-

Even though he knew full well that Lizzie was waiting just on the other side of the door, Spike couldn't help but feel a little nervous on Colin's behalf as the Registrar fiddled with the tape player before she entered the room. Maybe he'd watched too many sappy movies where people got jilted at the altar… even though there wasn't an altar in this case. Neither was there an aisle as such for the women to walk up, but at the moment that the doors opened, even though he knew that Lynda was not the Bride - and even if she was she certainly wouldn't be making her Bridal procession to the Star Wars Theme – Spike couldn't help but feel a little rush as he saw her slow, rhythmic approach. Liz had evidently talked her into carrying a couple of sunflowers as a posy too, and she did look so very beautiful. Yes. He could have happily married her at that moment.

But it wasn't his moment to have.

Lizzie was beaming. She looked… Spike had to admit, she looked crazy. She must have visited a Haberdashery at some point in their shopping trip, since she'd found some white ribbon to lace her red Doc Martens with. She'd gone with the traditional white stockings and garter, which didn't exactly match her denim hotpants. Add a top that showed her monkey tattoo, the sunflowers and the hair and you were left with… Well… you were left with Lizzie Fish. That was it. She looked kinda nuts, but at least she still looked like Liz which, Spike supposed, was really the point. Spike snuck a glance at Colin. The Englishman's eyes were all on the Bride. Spike could have set his tie alight and he was pretty sure he'd have gotten no response whatsoever. His expression was one that Spike had never seen Colin wear before. It took Spike a moment to realise that it was a smile free of avarice, subterfuge, lechery and artifice. It was practically Pure. Spike had never seen that smile on Colin's face before because it was the smile of the purely, simply, completely happy.

It only took a few seconds for the women to reach the men and the Registrar at the other end of the room. Liz gave Colin's hand a quick squeeze.

'Maroon?' she asked, giving Colin's suit the once over. 'Unusual.'

'Best I could do,' Spike murmured, apologetically. 'Hey. At least it's not brown.'

Liz shrugged. 'Guess I don't look how you'd expected either, Sir.' She pulled an errant shoulder strap back into place. 'Not the Meringue type, I'm afraid…'

Colin just smiled at her.

'Jesus Christ,' Lynda muttered. 'Tell me Colin Mathews isn't lost for words.'

'I thought something was up when that weather report forecast a freak snowstorm in Hell earlier,' retorted Spike.

The Registrar cleared his throat. 'Shall we get started?'

The small Wedding party nodded their heads, simultaneously.

'Very well. I believe the Groom has asked that we begin the ceremony with a reading from Spike.'

'Aw…' Spike looked across at the expectant eyes watching him, sighed and unfolded the piece of paper.

He coughed a little.

He swallowed.

He coughed again.

'The power of love,' he read, 'is a curious thing. Makes one man weep, makes another man sing. Change a hawk to a little white dove. More than a feeling, that's the power of love.'

Lynda frowned. 'What's that from?'

'Don't need money,' continued Spike, 'don't take fame, Don't need no credit card to ride this train. It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes, But it might just save your life. That's the power of love.'

'Oh,' Lynda nodded to herself quietly as Spike re-folded the paper and awkwardly slunk back to join her. 'I get it.'

'No you don't,' Spike whispered.

'Come off it Spike. I'm not completely clueless about popular culture, you know. I know Echo & The Bunnymen when I hear it.'

'It's not Echo & The Bunnymen.'

'Yes it is.'

'You're getting your "Someone & The Something"s mixed up.'

'Don't patronise me, you cheeseburger munching philistine.'

'Lynda, would you just remember where we are for a second and shut the Hell up? We're gonna miss the whole…'

'...Husband and Wife,' announced the Registrar with a warm smile towards Colin and Lizzie. 'I'm sure you'd like to kiss your Bride.'

Lynda and Spike blinked in perfect synchrony. 'What?'


	35. Acceptance 6

REMAIN THE SAME

-x-

Acceptance

-x-

Six (Here Comes The Sun)

-x-

_Here comes the sun, _

_Here comes the sun, and I say_

_It's all right._

_Little darlin', I feel like ice is slowly melting._

_Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear…_

_Here comes the sun,_

_Here comes the sun, and I say_

_It's all right._

-x-

Lynda shifted in her seat, her eyes still shut. 'The Beatles?'

'Yep.' Spike turned down the car stereo. 'Good to know you can get at least one band name right. Even if they are 30 years old.'

Lynda shuffled again, resting her head on a balled up cardigan pressed against her window, and prepared to go back to sleep. 'Bit old fashioned for you, isn't it?'

'Nah. They're cool again now.'

'Mmph. How far is it now to the hotel, anyway?'

'Not a clue.'

'What?' Lynda opened her eyes. Her mouth fell ajar at the sight that greeted her from the other side of the windscreen.

'We're a little lost.'

Lynda didn't speak for a moment. She _couldn't_ speak. She got out of the car and took a few wobbly steps forward. They were Nowhere. They were officially slap bang in the middle of nowhere. Great green mountains capped with the yellows and pinks of dawn loomed in every conceivable direction. The grass at her feet grew unchecked and was peppered with wildflowers. The only testament to human civilisation ever having so much as passed through this place was the narrow, winding road on which they were currently parked. There was nothing but Nature as far as the eye could see.

Spike wandered up to join her. 'Pretty, huh? Y'know, America's full of places like this, just mountains and air and the open road. You start kinda missing that when you've been in Norbridge for a few years.'

'What have you done?' Lynda breathed, 'where have you taken us?'

'I got us lost.' Spike shrugged, cheerfully. 'Thought it might be fun to go map-free for a while.'

'Spike, it's morning already! You've been driving us into the wilderness all _night_?'

'It's the middle of Summer, Lynda. It's, like, 4am. We didn't leave the restaurant 'til gone midnight. I wasn't tired, I just thought, what the Heck. We've come all this way, we might as well get some scenery while we can.'

Lynda just stared at him.

'Relax,' he continued, 'I know where we are. I can turn the car back around, there's a village just a few miles down the road.'

Lynda still didn't reply. She took another few steps away from the car, and breathed in the cold, fresh air.

'Lynda…?'

'It certainly has been a week for doing mad, impulsive things,' she said, her back to him, 'hasn't it?'

He smiled, softly. 'Don't tell me you're gettin' the bug for it too?'

She kept her back to him, gazing up at the tangerine tinged sky. 'Would you…' She murmured, 'would you…?' Unseen by Spike, she closed her eyes, as though mentally changing tack. 'Would you please get Kenny out of the car?'

Spike nodded, taking a couple of backwards steps towards the car. 'You think it's time?'

'I don't know,' Lynda sighed, 'but this is pretty, and the sun's out, and it… it feels right. Doesn't it?'

'Yeah,' replied Spike. 'It feels right.' He glanced over his shoulder at the newlyweds still sleeping in the back seat. 'Want me to wake the kids up for this?'

'Not yet,' Lynda addressed the landscape. 'I need a while to work up to this, you know.'

Spike very quietly opened the front passenger door and picked Kenny's box out of the glove compartment, closing the door behind him with a soft "click".

-x-

Colin stirred, and snorted. He shifted around a little uncomfortably, his eyes still closed.

'Morning, Sir,' whispered a voice by his ear.

'Is it morning, already?'

'Yeah.'

'Oh. Well. Morning then, Fish.'

'Uh-uh-uh,' chided Lizzie's voice softly. 'You're going to have to come up with a new nickname for me now.'

Colin thought for a moment, his eyes still shut. 'Morning… Mrs Fish?'

'Mrs_Mathews_.'

'No, that's my Mum.' He yawned. 'I think you're getting confused, Mrs Fish.'

There was a gentle weight on his shoulder as Liz leaned against him. 'So, how's married life so far?'

'Cold and cramped. You?'

'Ditto. Oh, and I hate to tell you this, but Spike and Lynda seem to have driven us out into a completely deserted wilderness and left us child locked in the car.'

Colin opened one eye and looked out of his window at the surroundings. Then he did something that rather surprised himself. He completely failed to panic.

'Don't worry,' he told Liz, 'they've probably just brought us out here to slit our throats and eat our brains.'

'You're just saying that,' smiled his wife.

_She's pretty_, he thought. Another thought hit him. _And I get to keep her – Ker-ching!_

Liz pursed her lips slightly. 'What?'

'What do you mean, "What"?'

'Your eyes just went "Ker-ching".'

He opened his mouth, but instead of a reply in it he only found a smile. He pulled the old blanket they'd been nestling under for warmth high over both of their shoulders and closed his eyes again.

'Come back to bed, Dear.'

-x-

Lynda stood very still for a long time, clutching the box of ashes to her chest. As Spike watched her, a slow smile began to spread over her face.

'Did I ever tell you about my first kiss?'

'You mean it wasn't me?'

Lynda just snorted.

'To be honest, I'm a little surprised about that,' continued Spike. 'Those first few, they were pretty rusty. I just assumed you'd never had any practice.'

'Did I ever tell you that Kenny and I used to go out with each other?'

Spike clenched his jaw. 'No,' he replied through closed teeth as he turned a little pink. He pointed accusatorially at the small container in Lynda's hands. 'You'd better count your lucky stars you're in a box right now, Phillips, or I'd…'

'It was for a couple of weeks,' Lynda breezed. 'We were only 11. I'd decided that since I was at secondary school I needed to have a boyfriend, and Kenny was convenient, he was to hand and he was too frightened of me to say no. It was just playground stuff. Holding hands and so on. Until…' Lynda shook her head at the memory. 'Until Susie bloody Pickering told me that you can't have a boyfriend if you don't kiss him. So I decided – I was going to kiss him, the very next day. I organised this game of blindman's buff, made sure I was It, made sure I could see through the blindfold and off I went. Only…'

'Only you kissed somebody else by accident,' Spike prompted.

'No accident about it,' Lynda replied, 'like I say, I was cheating, I could see everything. He wasn't even in the game, he'd been all the way the other side of the yard. He just ran straight over to me and before I knew it, you know… tongue down my throat.'

Spike's eyebrows hit his hairline. '_Kenny_?'

Lynda shook her head, which she then jerked in the direction of the parked car.

'You're…' Spike stammered, 'you're kidding me, right? Tell me you're kidding, Lynda.'

'Fraid not.'

'Ew. EWW!' Spike stuck his tongue out of his open mouth and scraped the imaginary filth off it with his palm. 'Oh God, I feel dirty by association…'

'Well, how do you think _I_ felt?' Lynda replied. 'I was mortified. Apoplectic! I started screaming at Kenny to beat Colin up, because wasn't that what a boyfriend was supposed to do if someone else snogged his girlfriend…?'

'But he chickened out,' Spike guessed, 'am I right?'

Lynda nodded. 'I had to punch Mathews' lights out myself. Then I slapped Kenny round the face and told him he was dumped.'

Spike grinned. 'Poor Kenny.'

'Poor Kenny my eye,' retorted Lynda. 'See, as I was walking home that day I saw a very strange thing, given the circumstances. Kenny and Colin together, friendly as you please, round the back of the ice cream van, where they thought nobody could see them. Kenny was digging into his pockets, and counting out change. So I waited for him, said there were no hard feelings, could we walk home together, then as soon as we were alone I sat on him and gave him Chinese Burns until he told me the truth.' She laughed a little at the memory. 'He'd paid Colin to do it. He'd heard about the kissing thing, he wanted to get out but he didn't have the nerve to dump me, so Colin offered it for him for a fiver.'

Spike started to laugh, himself. 'Kenny Phillips: Criminal Mastermind, huh?'

'Only…' Lynda's giggle began to turn a little hysterical. 'Only he hadn't counted on Colin demanding more after the event.' She gasped for breath. 'Extra expenses for psychological trauma incurred.'

'Told you you were a lousy kisser.'

'I hadn't quite finished eating a packet of Skips,' Lynda added, catching a rogue tear with her thumb. 'To this day you can offer him a prawn cocktail crisp and he'll gag.' She sniffed, wiping away another tear. 'I'm going to miss him.'

'Which one?'

'Both of them.' She took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. 'Time to let go.'

She opened the box.

She looked inside, and stopped.

'Spike?'

'Mmm?' Spike asked, innocently.

'Where's the rest of Kenny?'

'Huh?'

'This box was full two days ago. Why is it half empty now?'

'Um…'

'Liz started telling me a strange, rambling story yesterday about some silly boy in a band, and said you should be the one to tell me the end of it,' Lynda added. 'That wouldn't have anything to do with my partially missing best friend, would it…?'

'He was our friend too,' Spike blurted.

Lynda glared at the American, dangerously. 'Meaning what, precisely?'

'It was Fate,' Spike replied. 'It was too good an opportunity to miss. The bus was deserted, the window was open, I figured it'd be the sort of thing he'd have appreciated, y'know, since he had so much fun doin' the concert, so… so as from Sunday night there's a couple of ounces of Kenny Phillips on tour with Oasis.'

Lynda arched an eyebrow. 'There's more than a handful missing here, Spike.'

'Yeah,' Spike admitted, 'I know. See, when Colin found out about it he wanted a go himself, so, um, Kenny's also, in part, on the floor on the fitting room in La Senza.'

'So_that's_ why you got me those frilly knickers.'

Spike shrugged. 'Needed a distraction.'

'Let me just get this straight, Thompson… the three of you kidnapped me, taking Kenny's remains as a hostage, drove me for two days and two nights to the middle of nowhere and in the process thought it would be a fun idea to steal bits of Kenny and scatter them wherever you pleased? I mean, without even telling me?'

'You're mad,' Spike observed, 'arentcha?'

'Mad?' Lynda gritted her teeth. 'no, Spike. Not at this particular moment. Because at this particular moment right now, I have to be calm and serene and say goodbye to Kenny.' She closed her eyes and tipped the box upside down. Ash cascaded out of it, mushrooming out as it billowed down towards the untamed grass. Some of it was caught by a light breeze and drifted away like tiny grey snowflakes caught in an updraft.

'Goodbye,' whispered Lynda.

She breathed.

Her eyes snapped open.

'Right,' she barked. '_Now_ I'm mad!'

She turned on her heel and made fast work of marching to the car before Spike could so much as draw breath to utter a warning. With one fluid motion she opened the back door of the car and grabbed Colin's arm, dragging him off the back seat.

'Lynda?' muttered Colin, still half asleep. 'What are you doing?'

'Something I should have done years ago,' Lynda replied. 'Colin Mathews, I have worked with some low lives in my time, God knows, but you… _you_ are _the_ lowest, shiftiest, grubbiest, sneakiest amoral lying, cheating, thieving, backstabbing, bullshitting, cowardly excuse of a weasel of a man.'

Colin shot Spike a desperate look. 'She found out about Kenny's ashes and the undies shop, didn't she?'

'Guess what, Colin,' continued Lynda over Spike's attempt to reply, 'I did. And, you know what? I wasn't in the least bit surprised. This isn't even about that. This is about the million other reasons you've given me over our acquaintance to be pissed off. You're unreliable in every conceivable way. You push dishonesty to levels even I was never aware existed. It's as if the Warner Brothers were involved in some paranormal cult back in the early 70s and found a way of projecting the soul of Daffy Duck into a human foetus. No wonder Campbell doesn't want to work with you. You _are_ a liability. The biggest liability I've ever had to put up with. And _you_ have the temerity to tell _me_ you want to leave?'

'What…?' Asked Colin, now utterly bewildered.

'You're fired!' Lynda stomped over to the boot, popped it open and hauled out Colin's bag. 'You should have been fired years and years ago, God alone knows why I didn't.' She threw his bag down at his feet. 'Get the Hell out of my sight and stay there.'

'What?' Cried Colin again, gazing in panic at the desolate surroundings.

'You heard.' Lynda pulled out a second bag. 'And take your terrifying Child Bride with you.'

'You what, Lynda?' Liz scrabbled out of the car. 'You can't fire me just 'cause Colin's quit…'

'Watch me.' Lynda threw the other girl's bag at her. 'You're loud, you're aggressive…'

'So are you!'

'Exactly! I don't like newcomers swanning in and taking my thunder. You're a friend thief both emotionally and physically, you can't spell for toffee and you've got stupid hair. But that's not why I'm throwing you out.' She slammed the boot down. 'I'm throwing you out because, as you may not have noticed from the light speed ceremony yesterday, you're his wife now. It's about time the two of you started going it alone. Isn't that what married couples do?'

Liz picked up her bag, slowly. 'You're… you're doing this to be _nice_?'

Lynda treated the newly-weds to a wicked grin. 'See it as your Honeymoon. A wedding gift from Spike and me. I was originally going to ditch you at the hotel, but this place seems pleasant enough.'

Colin took a pleading step towards Lynda as she sauntered towards the driver's door of the car. 'It's the middle of nowhere, Lynda! What are we supposed to do?'

'Go on an adventure,' shrugged Lynda. 'Go on a journey. Go on a bank-robbing spree. See the world. Stay in bed for a month. Read a book. Write a book. Give a kidney. Steal a car. Learn to fly. Forget to floss. Lose yourselves. Find yourselves. Keep budgies. Have twenty children all named after the Dramatis Personae of The Comedy Of Errors. Do something with your lives. Anything! Just don't ask me. It's got nothing to do with me any more.'

'It's four in the morning, Lynda!' Colin begged. 'We don't even know where we are!'

'You're on a road,' Lynda replied. 'In Scotland. Behind you lies civilisation, ahead of you, who knows. Bit like life, really.'

Sensing that his befuddled argument wasn't going to sway Lynda, Colin turned to Spike for support. 'Spike. Mate. This is crazy, right? Tell her she's crazy!'

'Yeah, it's crazy,' Spike replied. 'But then anything less would disappoint you, right?'

'Yeah, but at least…'

'I'd help you, Colin,' added Spike, 'I really would. Only, I figure I've pretty much given my due amount of assistance to you lately, especially seeing as how a little ten-year-old anecdote Lynda just told me has well and truly taken you out of my Good Books for the foreseeable future.'

'What anecdote?' asked Liz.

Spike strapped himself in to the passenger side with a cheerful smile. 'Don't forget to write!'

Colin hurried around to the driver's side as Lynda fastened her seatbelt and adjusted the rear view mirror.

'You're not really going to do this, Lynda, are you?'

Lynda put the key in the ignition. 'Bye, Colin. Have fun.'

'You wouldn't really just abandon us here in the…'

The Granada roared into life and screeched away, speeding down the desolate road until it became a small red speck, which rounded a corner and disappeared.

-x-

They sat in silence for several minutes as they drove.

'You _are_ going back for them though,' said Spike eventually, 'aren't you?'

Lynda shook her head. 'It's light, it's not raining, they've got money, he's got his mobile… I even slipped some chocolate bars and fizzy pop into Lizzie's bag, so they won't starve or anything. If Colin wants to escape suburban tedium, I can't think of a better way for him to start than this.'

'Remind me when we decide to teach our kids to swim,' Spike told her, 'not to let you do it. You'd just bore a hole in a frozen pond and fling them in.'

'Nonsense,' Lynda replied. 'Christopher and William are perfectly healthy, strong boys. A little cold water won't hurt them.'

'Wha…?'

Lynda gave him a sideways glance before returning her attention to the road. 'Well, since you've decided we've got Hypothetical Children now, I thought I might at least name them. I _am_ their mother, after all.' She paused a little. 'Nice to see Colin wrong footed again. It had been a while. So bloody sure about Lizzie, that she was The One, that they'd be together forever… it was getting a little annoying.'

'So damn sure…' Spike echoed, thoughtfully.

'Long journey home,' Lynda told him, conversationally.

'Sure is.'

'No Colin, no Liz, no Kenny… not now, not…' Lynda began to trail off. 'Not ever again…'

'Just you and me,' Spike reminded her.

'Going it alone,' added Lynda.

'Think we'll make it?' Spike asked. 'Think we'll be able to go the distance without killing each other?'

'You mean, the trip back or just generally?'

Spike laughed a little. 'Beats me.'

They came to a crossroads. Lynda brought the car to a stop.

'You want the map?' Spike asked.

Lynda took a long, hard look through the windscreen at the unmarked wilderness winding off in every direction.

'No,' she told him. 'This is… it's nice. Just the two of us. No map. No nothing. Just you. It's fun.' She turned and grinned at him. 'So where to now?'

-x-

'So where to now?'

Two people sat on their rucksacks at the side of a deserted road in the early morning sun.

'Lynda said something about civilisation behind us,' piped Liz. 'There's probably something down the road we can walk to. Failing that, we can always hitch a ride.'

Colin snuck her a guilty look. 'Sorry I got you fired.'

Lizzie shrugged. 'It was high time I stretched my legs again anyway. Nice to have someone to stretch them with for a change.' She stroked a finger gently down his arm. 'I doubt I'd have lasted two weeks at that paper without you there anyway, it'd be boring as piss.'

'S'pose you're right.'

'I'm your wife. I'm always right.'

Colin got to his feet and extended a hand to help Lizzie up. 'Best get walking, then.'

Lizzie didn't take his hand. She crossed her legs and ran the tip of her tongue over the inside of her lips, gazing up at the sky.

'Nah,' she announced, 'not yet.'

Colin let his hand swing back down at his side. 'Well, what do you suggest?'

'It's the wee small hours,' Lizzie told him, 'we're on honeymoon, and there's not a soul for miles around. I say for the time being we climb that hill…' She nodded at a crag ahead of them that seemed to Colin far to high and treacherous to simply be a "hill", 'get our bearings, strip off and consummate this marriage of ours on the top of it.'

Colin weighed up the options. 'Yep. That sounds like a better idea.'

He started the slow amble towards the hill. His wife stood up and followed him, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

'Do we really have to climb the mountain, though?'

'It's not a mountain, you English Nancy, it's a hill. And yes we do. It's romantic.'

'Don't see what's so romantic about blisters, sprained ankles and sheep poo.'

'Colin?'

'Yes?'

'I've got Double Deckers in here.'

'Fantastic.'

-x-

THE END


End file.
